THE   UNIVERSITY 

OF  ILLINOIS 

LIBRARY 


ONAWAGO 

-OR- 

The  Betrayer  of  Pontiac 


BY 

WILL  CUMBACK  LUDLOW 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
IRENE  MULL-MARQUARDT 


1911 

ANTIQUARIAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
Benton  Harbor,  Michigan. 


COPYRIGHTED  1908 

BY 
MRS.  H.  A.   LUDLOW 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface  _____________  :  ______________________  1 

The  Betrayer  of  Pontiac  ____________________  11 

BOOK  I 
I    The   Morning   of    the    Pottawatamie 

Expulsion  _______________________  25 

II    The  Legend  of  the  Miama  Ghosts.  __  36 

III  The  Cry  ____________________________  46 

IV  The  Finding  _______________________  53 

BOOK  II 

I    The  Ford  of  the  River  ______________  63 

II    The  Boy  on  the  Horse  ______________  69 

III  The  Drive  to  Arnold's  ______________  75 

IV  The  Evening  at  Arnold's  ____________  81 

V  The  Prophecy  _____________________  89 

BOOK  III 

^             I    The  Track  that  Lies  In  the  Forest  ____  99 

II     Long's  Strangers  ____________________  107 

III  A  Shot  From  the  Dark  _____________  116 

IV  An  Unsprung  Trap  of  Nature  _______  126 

V             V    The  Barrelless  Flint-Lock  Musket____  132 

VI  The  Warning  ______________________  140 

VII    The  "Big  Medicine"  of  Topinabe.__.  145 

VIII    The  Compact  With  Moccasin  ________  154 


3558 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX  The  Laugh  In  the  Air 160 

X  Luxor 168 

XI  Empty-Handed  Retribution 185 

XII  The  Vision  In  the  Moonlight 199 

XIII  The  "Medicine"  of  the  Eye 204 

XIV  The  Unfolding  of  the  Night-Mists. ___  214 
XV  The  Shade  of  Pontiac 222 

XVI  The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 236 

XVII  The  Light  on  the  Lake 243 

XVIII  The  Woman  of  the  Brow- Veil 260 

XIX  The  Wolf 264 

XX  The  Ants 274 

XXI  The  Wreck 277 

XXII  The  Inscription 294 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Will  Cumback  Ludlow Frontispiece 

We-wan-a-issa Page    15 

Tis  a  chance  of  a  life-time "        25 

The  unshucked  ear  slipped  from  my  grasp  108 

I  tottered  to  the  fire  and  sank  upon  my 

knees "      175 

The  black  bulk  of  a  ship__  "     288 


WILL  CUMBACK  LUDLOW 


Frontispiece 


PREFACE. 


T?NGLISH  Literature  as  a  whole  has  been 
•*--*  divided  into  different  Periods,  each  Period 
being  characterized  by  some  peculiarity  either  in 
thought  or  structure  or  both;  but  just  how  to  classify 
Twentieth  Century  Literature,  that  which  is  being 
created  today,  is  a  problem  beyond  contemporary 
critics.  Are  we  creating  a  literature  that  will  stand 
the  test  of  time  and  become  classic,  are  we  reflecting 
the  peculiarities  of  our  own  times,  or  our  own  man- 
ners and  customs,  reflecting  the  great  movements 
that  are  making  or  have  made  history?  These 
questions  none  but  future  generations  can  answer. 
Like  every  age,  we  are  producing  a  lot  of  so- 
called  light  literature,  that  which  pleases  for  the 
moment  and  then  is  as  completely  forgotten  as  if  it 
never  existed.  Efforts  along  such  lines  are  useless, 
worse  than  useless  as  far  as  posterity  or  the  uplifting 
of  mankind  is  concerned.  Such  authors  write  for 
the  immediate  return,  such  return  taking  the  im- 


2  ONAWAGO 

mediate  form  of  dollars.  Their  ambition  has  been 
realized,  why  should  they  be  remembered?  There 
are  men  who  write  because  they  have  the  inspiration, 
because  they  love  to  write,  because  the  Muse  will  not 
be  stilled.  Such  men  produce  something  worthy  of 
their  efforts,  something  worthy  the  perusal  of  their 
fellow-men,  something  worthy  the  study  of  the  men 
ana  women  as  yet  unborn. 

There  was  a  period  in  American  Literature  when 
the  historical  novel  held  sway;  then  this  gave  way 
to  what  critics  and  authors  were  pleased  to  call 
"Realism."  The  "realistic  novel"  has  seen  its  day 
and  is  among  the  things  that  are  passing  to  the 
realms  of  oblivion.  The  historical  novel  is  again 
coming  to  be  the  great  source  of  dissemination  of 
certain  kinds  of  facts.  This  kind  of  literature  is  here 
to  stay  so  long  as  the  human  race  delights  to  read  of 
the  struggles  civilization  has  had  in  establishing  the 
present  order  of  things. 

Onawago  belongs  to  this  latter  class  of  literature. 
In  its  pages  we  find  portrayed  in  vivid  pictures  the 
development  of  the  Middle  West.  These  pictures 
are  based  on  actual  fact,  nothing  is  exaggerated, 
nothing  too  highly  colored.  The  author  has  tried 
to  set  forth  the  early  struggles  of  the  white  settlers  in 


GNAW  AGO  3 

Michigan.  He  has  searched  all  available  records, 
read  whole  libraries  that  he  might  the  more  truly 
arrive  at  fact,  has  personally  studied  the  topography 
of  the  country  in  which  the  scenes  are  lain;  in  fact, 
he  was  intimately  acquainted  with  every  square  foot 
of  the  country  in  which  the  action  takes  place. 
Therefore  no  errors  of  any  kind  will  be  found  in 
his  descriptions  of  localities. 

Will  Cumback  Ludlow  was  a  friend  to  the 
American  Indian,  and  no  man  of  the  Twentieth 
Century  was  more  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
peculiarities  of  the  real  Indian  than  he.  He  was 
interested  in  their  history,  in  their  manners,  customs 
and  everyday  life;  further,  he  was  interested  in  their 
present  and  future  welfare.  He  delighted  to  throw 
side-lights  upon  their  history,  their  ancient  life.  So 
zealous  was  he,  so  true  a  friend  to  the  Indian  that  at 
times  he  incurred  the  good-natured  ridicule  of  his 
friends  who  often  accompanied  him  in  his  researches 
afield.  But  he  took  all  this  "chaff"  with  the 
calm,  serene  spirit  that  ever  marks  the  true  ex- 
ponent of  Truth.  He  admired  the  Indian  character 
as  it  is  today,  a  mixture  of  the  vices  of  both  white 
and  native  American,  but  he  admired  more  the 
character  of  those  sturdy  Indian  heroes  who  fought 


4  ONAWAGO 

and  died  for  what  they  considered  right  as  against 
the  encroachments  of  the  so-called  superior  race,  the 
the  White  man.  In  his  tale  of  the  early  settlement 
of  Michigan,  the  author  has  chosen  such  an  Indian 
hero  for  one  of  his  characters,  not  because  he  was 
such  a  hero,  but  that  more  historic  fact  might  be 
placed  before  the  reader,  that  a  truer  narrative  might 
be  recited.  Historic  truth  is  that  at  which  the  author 
aims.  Being  no  respecter  of  persons,  nor  biased  by 
outside  influence  and  race  difference,  the  author  has 
two  objects  in  view,  viz:  to  relate  historic  facts,  to  tell 
a  pleasant  and  entertaining  tale. 

Onawago  was  a  growth,  not  a  spontaneous  crea- 
tion. Being  an  indefatigable  worker,  the  plot  was 
worked  over  many  times;  each  chapter  was  remod- 
eled, yea,  each  line  criticised  and  compared  until  no 
error  or  flaw  existed.  It  is  a  work  of  years,  a  work 
that  cost  the  author  his  life,  so  hard  did  he  work  to  be 
exact,  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  critics  and  reviewers. 
Into  this  work  the  author  placed  all  he  possessed — his 
life — such  is  the  cost  of  production.  His  shorter  pro- 
ductions and  articles  number  many,  but  it  was  in  the 
development  of  this  work  that  the  author  shows  of 
what  "stuff"  he  was  made.  Under  the  great  brain 
pressure  and  hard  work  the  physical  gave  way  and 


ONAWAGO  5 

* 

the  real  author  was  merged  into  the  Great  Unknown. 

The  author  lived  only  two  weeks  after  he  had  an- 
nounced that  Onawago  was  finished;  in  the  prime  of 
youthful  vigor  the  silver  cord  of  life  was  snapped 
almost  instantly  and  our  beloved  Will  was  with  us 
no  more. 

After  four  years  we  cannot  yet  realize  that  he  is 
gone  into  the  great  Eternity  and  that  only  his  works 
live  with  us.  There  are  some  things  to  which  we 
cannot  reconcile  ourselves  and  this  is  one  of  them — 
that  Will  C.  Ludlow  is  gone.  We  offer  this  last 
tribute  of  love  to  him.  If  he  wrought  so  nobly  in 
his  early  youth,  what  would  the  mature  man  have 
done?  Yet  some  of  our  greatest  authors  produced 
their  best  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen.  Our  beloved 
friend  strove  for  one  thing, — justice  and  truth  for  the 
American  Indian  and  this  he  sets  forth  in  his  work. 
May  it  become  a  classic  of  more  value  than  any  that 
has  preceeded  it. 

Will  Cumback  Ludlow  was  born  July  twenty-third 
Eighteen  Hundred  and  Eighty-five.  He  did  not  in- 
herit a  robust  physique  and  from  childhood  was  a 
great  sufferer;  but  in  spite  of  all  physical  ills,  he  cul- 
tivated a  sunny  disposition  and  pleasant  manners. 
From  earliest  childhood  he  loved  outdoor  life,  the 


6  ONAWAGO 

* 

woods  and  the  denizens  thereof.  He  was  the  friend 
of  the  wild  animal  as  well  as  the 'Indian.  Nature 
was  his  special  study  and  delight.  From  about  the 
age  of  ten  he  began  to  spend  as  much  time  as  possi- 
ble in  the  woods,  living  the  "simple  life"  and  close 
to  Mother  Nature.  It  was  this  kind  of  life  that  length- 
ened his  life  to  what  it  was.  Each  year  he  used  the 
gun  less  and  the  camera  more;  the  thirst  (if  I  may  use 
the  expression)  for  blood  or  the  "sportsman's  fever" 
became  less  as  he  came  more  thoroughly  to  know 
the  nature  of  the  animals  of  the  forest.  The  better  he 
knew  them,  the  more  he  respected  their  instincts,  de- 
sires and  mode  of  living.  "The  gun  less,  the  camera 
more"  was  his  favorite  saying  as  we  often  trudged 
through  the  dense  forest  into  the  habitat  of  the  wild 
animal. 

We  may  say  that  practically  twelve  years  of  his 
life  were  spent  in  the  open  air  studying  Nature  and 
Nature's  children.  His  spare  moments  and  nights 
were  spent  writing  upon  the  subject  that  occupied  his 
mind  during  the  day.  Nothing  ever  escaped  his 
notice. 

He  was  a  true  and  exact  observer,  never  jumping 
at  conclusions  or  imagining  things  as  do  so  many  nat- 
uralists. Many  is  the  day  we  have  spent  together  in 


ONAWAGO  7 

the  woods,  never  firing  a  shot  during  the  whole  time, 
but  just  observing  the  movements  of  birds  and 
animals.  In  fact,  we  never  used  our  rifles  except  to 
procure  food. 

Our  friend  did  a  great  deal  to  put  an  end  to  pot 
shooting  and  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  put  to  flight 
that  pest  of  the  forest,  the  "game  hog".  "If  you 
must  shoot,  give  everything  a  fair  chance  for  its  life," 
was  his  theory  on  hunting.  Such  was  Ludlow  in  the 
wild.  As  boy  and  man,  nothing  can  be  said  but 
praise  for  his  gentlemanly  bearing,  his  sincere  regard 
for  others,  his  love  for  a  "square  deal." 

In  the  midst  of  his  efforts,  his  physique  gave  way 
and  he  died  of  hemorrhage  of  the  brain,  October 
Nineteen  Hundred  and  Seven,  deeply  mourned  by 
his  host  of  friends.  The  one  who  misses  him  the  most 
is  the  one  who  took  the  deepest  interest  in  his  wel- 
fare and  ever  encouraged  him  in  his  chosen  career. 
That  one  is  his  mother,  the  truest  and  sweetest  of 
mothers  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet.  Train- 
ed and  encouraged  by  such  a  mother,  our  friend 
could  not  do  otherwise  than  succeed,  though  the  path 
looked  stony  and  full  of  lions  at  times.  One  word 
from  his  mother,  and  Will  took  a  new  hold  upon  the 
difficulties  in  his  way  and  usually  the  mountain  was 


8  ONAWAGO 

a  mole-hill,  the  lions  only  fleeting  shadows.  None 
can  mourn  the  loss  of  a  noble  son  more  than  a  true, 
sympathetic  mother;  none  needs  so  high  praise  as 
that  same  mother  who  brings  to  manhood  this  same 
son  and  makes  him  a  power  in  the  world. 

Will  C.  Ludlow  certainly  was  a  power  that  has 
been  felt  all  over  this  land  in  the  chosen  field  of  his 
effort.  How  much  of  this  he  owes  to  his  mother, 
how  much  to  himself,  none  can  ever  tell. 

The  friends  who  are  left  behind  feel  that  there  is 
a  gap  that  can  never  be  filled,  the  silver  cord  is  brok- 
en beyond  all  hope  of  repair  in  this  world.  Let 
us  all  lay  a  flower  of  tribute  upon  his  tomb  and  trust 
that  his  effots  have  not  been  in  vain. 

J.  O.  KlNNAMAN. 


"  WE-WON-A-ISSA  " 


Page  15 


PROLOGUE 


THE  BETRAYER  OF  PONTIAC 


ONAWAGO  11 


THE  BETRAYER  OF  PONTIAC 

HpHE  wan  brilliancy  of  a  sallow  half-moon 
-*-  streamed  down  upon  the  slumbering  garrison  of 
Fort  Detroit.  It  was  the  night  preceeding  that  mem- 
orable May  7th,  1763.  Peace  and  absolute  quiet 
brooded  over  the  world.  A  solitary  sentinel  stationed 
at  a  stockade  gate,  whistled  softly  the  air  of  an  old 
English  folk-lore.  Naught  else  but  the  ceaseless 
chant  of  the  frog  chorus  over  in  the  marsh,  broke  the 
hushed  sublimity  of  the  Spring  night, 

Not  even  so  much  as  a  single  ray  of  candle-light 
was  visible  among  the  several  score  of  log  dwellings 
of  the  French-Canadian  settlers  scattered  about  with- 
in goodly  distance  of  the  defences  of  the  Fort.  The 
small  village  reposed  in  utter  darkness,  as  if  deserted. 
Circling  in  a  broad  sweep  behind  it  ran  the  for- 
est, gloom-wrapped  and  forbidding  beneath  the  ghost- 
like splendor  of  the  moon-beams;  when  suddenly  — 
well-nigh  midnight — the  mellow  strains  of  a  whip- 
poor-will  came  floating  from  within  its  gloomy  soli- 
tude. 


12  ONAWAGO 

A  solitary  pedestrian  immediately  emerged  from 
the  nearest  stockade  gate.  His  British  uniform  evi- 
denced that  he  was  an  officer  of  the  garrison.  He 
walked  rapidly  and  with  lengthy  strides  straight  in  the 
direction  of  the  calling  bird.  He  entered  the  forest 
where  it  bordered  the  river  below  the  fort,  and  was 
lost  to  view  within  its  shadow.  The  whip-poor-will 
was  heard  to  call  no  more. 

Along  the  river,  the  last  smoldering  embers  were 
whitening  to  ashes  in  the  campfires  of  the  Indian 
villages.  There  were  three  of  these  villages.  Farthest 
up  stream  stood  the  Ottawas.  Two  miles  below  and 
directly  across-river  from  the  fort,  lay  the  Wyandot 
village;  while  just  below  the  fort  and  on  the  same 
bank,  reposed  the  Pottawatamies. 

Not  a  human  presence  moved  about  among 
them.  Even  the  dog-packs  for  once  were  hushed. 
The  same  profound  peacefulness  and  quietude 
brooded  here  as  over  the  slumbering  garrison.  Yet 
not  with  sleep  did  the  villages  lie  thus  enwrapped 
in  peace  and  quiet.  Though  the  silence  there  was 
oppressive  in  its  breathlessness,  yet  the  very  atmos- 
phere was  surcharged  with  the  spirit  of  unrest.  With 
nerveless  impatience  for  the  morrow's  sun,  two  thous- 
and braves  pitched  uneasily  within  their  blanket-rolls. 


ONAWAGO  13 

Yet  throughout  that  vast  array  of  darkened  lodges, 
not  a  human  presence  moved  abroad — not  one  of 
the  sleepless  warriors  ventured  from  his  lowly  bed. 
Pontiac's  law  had  gone  abroad  that  nothing  should 
move  for  the  remainder  of  this  night — his  law 
engendered  of  a  sudden  whim,  a  whim  lest  the 
Great  White  Chief  at  the  Fort  might  become  suspic- 
ious because  of  the  uncurbed  pow-wows  of  the  earlier 
evening,  and  especially  if  prolonged  throughout  the 
night.  Therefore  had  his  order  gone  abroad  that 
naught  should  move  tonight. 

Meanwhile  from  one  village  to  the  other,  alone, 
prowled  a  solitary  figure.  He  scowled  darkly  in 
deep  meditation  as  he  stalked  about  among  the 
hundred  or  more  lodges  of  each  village.  Several 
times  at  as  many  different  lodges  he  spoke  aloud, 
and  each  time  a  voice  answered  from  within.  Several 
times  someone  sought  him  in  counsel,  but  as  many 
times  he  sent  them  back  to  their  beds  with  a  bitter 
rebuke.  He  alone  was  free  to  go  and  come  this 
night.  None  other  might  stir  abroad.  Thus  had  the 
Otter  commanded,  he  the  Great  Emperor  of  the 
West,  Pontiac,  Great  Chief  of  all  the  Ottawas,  Chip- 
pewas  and  Pottawattamies,  and  of  all  the  nations  of 
the  lakes  and  rivers  of  the  North  *  *  *  *  proud, 


14  ONAWAGO 

vindictive,  warlike  and   easily   offended.  *  *  *  : 

One  alone  among  his  subjects  heeded  not  his 
bidding.  Shortly  after  midnight  a  sixteen-year-old 
Ojibwa  maiden,  foster  daughter  of  the  Pottawattamies, 
glided  stealthily  and  noiselessly  among  the  lodges  of 
the  Pottawattamie  village.  She  lifted  the  door-flap 
of  a  mat  wigwam  and  stole  within.  In  a  moment 
she  reappeared,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  pair  of 
brilliantly  embroidered  moose-hide  moccasins. 

She  reached  the  out-skirts  of  the  village  where  she 
paused  a  moment.  Then  sweet  and  clear,  the  treble 
of  the  whip-poor-will  trembled  upon  the  night.  In 
answer,  someone  spoke  within  the  gloom  of  the 
trees.  Running  lightly  forward  she  approached  a 
uniformed  figure  standing  silently  at  the  foot  of  a 
massive  red-oak. 

"So  you  are  back  already,  little  girl,"  spoke  a 
strong  masculine  voice  in  English.  "You  are  swift 
and  silent  as  the  wings  of  the  bird  whose  name  you 
bear." 

Without  answering,  she  glided  close  beside  him 
and  placed  the  moccasins  in  his  hand. 

"Tell  Beeg  White  Chief  dat  Whip-poor-will  send 
um  dese.  Go  now,  you;  go  home  to  Fort  now. 
We-won-a-issa  go  back  now,  too." 


GNAW  AGO  15 

"Ah,  but  little  girl,  I  have  no  pair  of  beauties 
such  as  these  made  by  your  dainty  hands.  Am  not 
I  so  deserving  of  a  token  of  friendship  even  as  the 
Major  himself?  I  have  not  a  single  gift  from  your 
hand,  Catherine,  not  one  thing  to  tell  me  that  you 
care  for  me.  Come,  have  a  pair  ready  for  me  when 
I  come  tomorrow  night." 

"  We-won-a-issa "  she  faltered,  then  ceased 

speaking  altogether." 

"  We-won-a-issa  is  the  Voice-of-the-Night.  She 
it  is  who  sings  when  the  day  is  done.  She  is  like  no 
other;  she  can  fly  among  her  sleeping  people  and 
they  do  not  awake.  She  it  is  who  can  meet  her  lover 
when  she  will  and  the  world  be  none  the  wiser.  She 
alone  can  bead  and  sew  so  deftly  and  with  such  taste 
that  the  Great  Father  of  the  Fort  will  wear  no  other 
moccasins  but  hers.  And  yet — yet  even  when  her 
lover  begs,  she  it  is  who  can  refuse  him  even  a  single 
pair  of  worthless  moccasins!"  This  with  quiet  banter 
in  his  tone;  then  softer:  "I  am  going  now.  Good- 
night, little  girl,  come." 

She  slipped  close  before  him  and  laid  a  hand 
tenderly  upon  his  shoulder,  gazing  up  into  his  face. 
He  stooped  and  placed  a  kiss  lightly  upon  her  fore- 
head. 


16  ONAWAGO 

"  No  go,"  she  whispered  softly.  "No  go.  Listen. 
Whip-poor-will  mebbe  make  um  moccasins — mebbe 
not." 

"And  why  'mebbe'?  Does  my  little  girl  really 
not  care  for  me  any  more?" 

Suddenly  she  went  a-tremble  with  excitement. 
She  seized  the  Englishman  firmly  by  the  sleeve  and 
was  urging  him  to  follow  her. 

"But  why — where  is  it  you  go,  little  one?  You 
make  as  though  to  lead  in  the  direction  of  the  Otter's 
own  village.  Yours  is  farther  down-river.  I  have 
no  business  near  the  Otter's  people  this  time  of  night. 
Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  this — why  this  sudden 
excitement  of  yours?" 

"  We-won-a-issa  go  to  Big  Chief.  Tell  him  love 
you.  Find  out." 

"Find  out!  Find -out  what?  What  in  the  name 
of  Heaven  would  you  find  out  from  Pontiac  about 
your  loving  me?  Come,  foolish  little  girl,  what  do 
you  mean?  Nor  will  I  go  a  step  farther  till  you  tell 
me!" 

"O  no,  no  stop!  Come!  We-won-a-issa  go  to 
Pontiac.  Find  out.  Den  you  know  too.  Come." 

"  Not  one  step,  I  swear,  till  I  understand  what  on 
earth  you  are  getting  at — what  you  mean  by  chasing 


ONAWAGO  17 

me  along  like  this  to  the  Otter  to  find  out  some  crazy 
thing  about  me.  Here's  far  as  I  go,  not  one  step 
farther!" 

She  sank  to  her  knees  in  mute  appeal  to  him. 
He  laughed,  leaned  over,  and  seizing  her  none  to 
gently  by  both  shoulders,  raised  her  forcibly  to  her 
feet. 

"Now  you  stand  up  here  and  tell  me  what  the 
devil  you  mean  by  these  damnable  actions!  Tell 
me — tell  me,  I  say!  I'm  through  fooling  now.  Tell 
me— or  I'll  split  your  bloody  head  open!"  and  he 
flashed  his  sword  from  its  scabbard.  She  turned  and 
would  have  fled  had  not  he  grasped  her  roughly  by 
the  shoulder  and  jerked  her  back  beside  him, — 
when 

"The  English  are  dogs!"  she  hissed  venomously 
in  the  language  of  her  people.  "When  the  Whip- 
poor-will  sings  again  there  will  be  not  one  cur  of 
them  left !  Howl! — for  it  is  the  last  time  you  will  be 
heard!" 

Something  small  and  glittering  flashed  in  the 
moon-light.  The  Englishman  saw  it  in  time  to  seize 
her  wrist.  With  a  subtle  twist  he  wrenched  it  from 
her  and  deposited  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Now  go,   you  little  red  devil.     I've  a  sound 


18  ONAWAGO 

notion  to  run  you  through  for  this  treachery.  I'm 
damned  if  I  wouldn't  if  you  weren't  so  bloomin' 
well-standing  with  the  Major." 

Already  she  was  gone,  vanishing  as  it  were,within 
the  shadowy  gloom  of  the  trees.  For  an  instant  the 
Englishman  stood  dazed,  then  uttering  a  sharp 
exclamation,  he  suddenly  wheeled  about  and  rapidly 
strode  through  the  forest  in  the  direction  of  the  Fort. 

"My  God!"  he  muttered,  "My  God!  I  must 
inform  Major  Gladwyn  of  this.  We're  every  one  of 
us  doomed  if  I  don't.  I  believe  it's  treachery,  sure 
as  the  shades!  'When  the  Whip-poor-will  sings 
again  there  will  be  not  one  cur  of  them  left!'  That's 
the  meaning  of  Pontac's  'brightening  the  chain  of 
friendship';  tomorrow  it  will  be  done  with  blood  for 
polish.  And  they've  filed  the  muzzles  off  their  guns. 
When  they  danced  this  evening,  I  told  the  Major  I 
liked  not  the  look  of  things.  Great  Heavens,  can't 
I  walk  faster  than  this !" 

Then  he  broke  into  a  run. 

An  half  hour  later,  Major  Gladwyn,  the  com- 
mandant, learned  that  which,  next  day,  saved  the 
life  of  every  soul  within  the  walls  of  Fort  Detroit. 

Whip-poor-will,  after  leaving  the  Englishman, 
hastened  toward  the  camp  of  her  foster  tribe,  the 


ONAWAGO  19 

Pottawattamies.  Her  small  hands  clenched  in  nervous 
anger.  Her  bosom  heaved  spasmodically.  Savage 
fire  glittered  in  her  large,  dark  eyes  as  she  muttered 
incoherently  under  her  breath: 

"The  British  dogs!  Let  them  die,  every  one! 
Tomorrow  We-won-a-issa  shall  laugh  when  she  hears 
her  lover  groan.  She  shall  gloat  with  the  young 
men  over  his  scalp.  The  palefaces  are  driven  back 
into  the  sea  !  When  the  Whip-poor-will  sings  again 
there  will  be  not  one  cur  of  them  left!" 

She  entered  the  Pottawattamie  village,  gliding 
surreptitiously  toward  her  own  teepee.  She  had 
almost  reached  its  shelter,  when  she  crouched  low 
suddenly,  motionless,  huddled  close  against  and 
within  the  shadow  of  a  bark  wigwam.  The  tall,  dark 
figure  of  a  man,  close-muffled  in  a  heavy  blanket, 
wandered  in  and  out  among  the  lodges,  slowly 
bearing  nearer  to  where  the  Ojibwa  maiden,  fearful, 
crouched  within  the  wigwam's  protective  shadow. 
She  scarcely  breathed  lest  her  breathing  be  detected. 
She  dared  not  attempt  to  slip  away  lest  she  be 
recognized — although  as  yet  she  could  not  discern 
the  person  of  the  prowler  to  the  extent  of  recogni- 
tion. 

As  he  strolled  about  among  the  lodges,  gradually 


20  ONAWAGO 

he  approached  her.  A  strange  glow  came  into  his 
deep-socketed  eyes  as  he  discovered  her  crouched 
almost  at  his  feet.  He  struck  her  a  blow  with  his 
moccasined  foot,  and  reaching  down,  laid  hold  upon 
the  long  strand  of  her  hair.  She  glanced  upward  as 
he  stooped  above  her;  then  shrank  closer  still  to 
earth,  recoiling  and  trembling  like  a  frightened  doe. 
Agonizing  dread  grasped  her  heart.  She  was  mind- 
less of  the  physical  pain  he  might  inflict — even  though 
this  mighty  one  had  jurisdiction  to  the  power  of  death 
among  all  the  tribes  and  nations  of  the  North. 
Instead,  she  feared  the  awful  curses  of  his  wrath. 
For  in  glancing  upward,  she  had  looked  into  the 
dreaded  eyes  of  the  mighty  Otter  himself. 

This  fear  tended  to  usurp  her  physical  pain  as  he 
raised  her — raised  her  at  arms-length  solely  by  means 
of  her  braided  hair — raised  her  until  she  swung 
suspended  from  the  ground.  A  score  of  conflicting 
emotions  played  upon  his  dark  visage.  His  splendid 
physique  quivered  with  pent  passion  that  for  the 
moment  seemed  ungovernable.  She  had  disobeyed 
his  law.  The  penalty  was  death.  Several  times  he 
made  as  though  to  strike  her,  Then  suddenly  he 
flung  her  from  him — flinging  her  with  his  powerful 


ONAWAGO  21 

arm  upon  the  ground  at  his  feet  where  she  lay 
swooning  in  a  shapeless  huddle. 

"The  Voice-of-the-Night  shall  be  no  more,"  he 
thundered  in  the  Ottawa  tongue.  "Thus  says  the 
Otter,  and  the  Mighty  Manitou  himself  trembles 
when  •  Pontiac  speaks.  The  Voice-of-the-Night  is 
now  no  more.  The  song  of  the  Whip-poor-will  is 
silenced  forever;  no  more  shall  the  Night-Voice 
sing  unto  her  tribe.  No  longer  are  you  We-won-a- 
issa,  Voice-of-the-Night." 

"You  are  now  the  Prowler-of-the-Dark.  Your 
song  henceforth  shall  be  but  as  the  wailing  of  the 
winds,  the  howling  of  wolves,  the  hooting  of  owls. 
You  shall  speak  with  the  squall  of  the  panther  and 
the  screech  of  the  lynx;  you  shall  skulk  about  among 
them  and  they  shall  know  you  as  one  of  themselves. 
For  you  are  now  The-Prowler-of-the-Dark.  Thus 
speaks  the  Otter  to  the  Great  Manitou— ON-A-WA- 
GO,  PROWLER-OF-THE-DARK." 

Thenceforward,  for  nearly  a  century,  misty, 
indefinite  rumors  breathed  of  one  with  occult  power. 
From  the  different  Indian  nations  occupying  that 
vast  territory  of  the  Great  Lake  region  came  these 

NOTE:  Proper  pronunciation  of  this  word^must  be  as  follows:  First 
'o'  sounded  as  'o'  in  "odd";  first  'a'  as  'a'  in  "away":  second  'a'  as  'a'  in 
"water";  and  last  'o'  as  in  "go."— ON-A-WA-GO. 


22  ONAWAGO 

wild  and  mysterious  tales.  They  circulated  from 
tribe  to  tribe  and  were  cited  often  and  again  to 
European  adventurers  from  time  of  earliest  settle- 
ment. Gradually  these  tales  assumed  the  semblance 
of  legend — fanciful  as  they  were  in  their  semi- 
mythical  guise — until  at  length  they  became  credited 
as  such  by  those  who  gave  ear  to  their  weird  fantasies. 
Yet,  forsooth,  they  grew  of  goodly  origin.  Even 
into  the  dusky  confines  of  council  lodges  they  gained 
narration.  Elderly  sages  and  swarthy  chieftains  were 
oftimes  wont  to  relate  them  while  the  blue-grey 
smoke-wraiths  of  the  peace-pipe  curled  slowly  upward 
with  fantastic  languor  through  the  shadowy  gloom  of 
the  council-wigwam. 

On  such  occasion  they  would  gather  in  grave 
conclave,  their  austere  attitudes  and  savage  features 
denoting  reverential  awe,  while  among  them  some 
dignified  member  would  solemnly  arise  and  in 
guttural  monotone  give  elaborate  account  of  some 
recently  performed  "Big-Medicine"  of  one— 
ONAWAGO— the  great  woman  witch-doctor  of  the 
Pottawattamies. 


BOOK  I 


THE  TOTEM  OF  THE  EYE 


ONAWAGO  25 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  MORNING  OF  THE  POTTAWATOMJE 
EXPULSION. 


'T^HE  absolute  darkness  which  heralds  approaching 
-•-  dawn  was  becoming  diffused  with  a  slight  pallor 
on  a  morning  in  early  October,  1838,  rendering  ob- 
jects discernable  in  the  semi-darkness,  when  a  birch 
canoe  shot  across  the  river  in  the  small  harbor  of  St. 
Joseph  on  Lake  Michigan,  and  landed  on  the  sharp 
angle  of  the  sandy  beach  where  the  river  joined  its 
flow  with  the  waters  of  the  lake,  opposite  the  town  that 
quietly  reposed  on  the  southern  side  of  the  river's 
mouth.  In  the  stern  reposed  a  middle-aged  Potta- 
wattamie  Indian,  while  a  younger  man,  crouched 
farther  forward,  forthwith  proceeded  to  disembark. 
"So,  Moccasin,  you're  bound  an'  determined  to 
not  go!  Well,  thet's  jest  the  way  wit'  you  Injuns. 
But  mind  ye,  red-skin,  'tis  your  chance  of  a  life-time. 
For  seldom  does  a  man  like  me  ask  one  o'  yer 
people  —  an'  'specially  one  he  knows  but  through 
hear-say,  to  keep  him  company  fer  a  winter!  But 


26  ONAWAGO 

even  so,  y'll  find  me  with  open  hand  should  y' 
change  yer  mind." 

"Good !"  ejaculated  the  Pottawattamie;  and 
swinging  his  canoe  suddenly  about  by  a  gentle  twist 
of  his  short  paddle,  he  darted  back  across  the  river 
and  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the  still  prevalent 
gloom  and  the  mists  that  rose  off  the  water. 

Bundy  stood  in  grave  attitude  and  watched  the 
form  of  the  Indian  slowly  fade  within  the  river  fog. 
"  Fine  Injun  thet,  fer  an  Injun,"  he  muttered  as  he 
turned  away.  His  course  lay  northward,  up  the 
lake,  and  as  he  walked  along,  he  kept  close  to  the 
gentle  swash  of  the  water,  for  there  the  sand  was 
compact  as  a  beaten  path, 

"A  body  o'  sojers  arrived  yester'  evenin'  and  I'd 
like  to  know  their  mission.  Wonder  if  they  have 
hired  the  red-skin  fer  a  guide.  An  Injun  allers  keeps 
his  mouth  shet  'n'  'specially  when  he  reckons  a 
feller's  a  mite  curious." 

An  hour  went  by  and  the  day  broke  clear  and 
calm.  Another  hour  elapsed  and  yet  another; 
still  Bundy  plodded  doggedly  on,  sweltering  under 
the  weight  of  his  impedimenta  and  the  scorch  of  the 
October  sun.  Another  hour  elapsed,  and  still  the 
redoubtable  Bundy  plodded  resolutely  onward  with- 


ONAWAGO  27 

out  a  halt.  By  this  time  he  had  covered  no  mean 
number  of  his  many  mile  journey.  But  it  was  now 
that  he  suddenly  started  because  of  a  grating  upon 
the  sand  behind  him.  Apprehensively  he  wheeled 
about,  grasping  his  rifle  to  "ready;"  but  simply 
confronted  the  complaisant  Moccasin  crouched  in 
the  stern  of  his  canoe. 

"Coin'  too,"  declared  the  Indian  in  so  gruff  a 
guttural  that  it  conveyed  the  impression  of  a  grunt. 
"Gottum  heep  good  place  t'  live — trap — fish — hunt, 
Mebbe  farm  leetle  too." 

"How  now!"  protested  Bundy,  "just  these  here 
few  hours  back  ye  denounced  my  place  no  good!" 

"Listen,"  and  the  Indian's  voice  was  lower  and 
softer  than  usual.  "Me  not  go  with  you.  You  go 
with  me  now,  dis  time.  Beaver — otter — bear — heep 
good  place;  lots  trap,  fish,  hunt." 

The  loquacious  Bundy  again  started  to  object,  but 
the  Indian,  preferring  to  let  circumstances  be  exposi- 
tor, impatiently  motioned  him  into  the  canoe.  Yet 
through  these  simple  abbreviations  Bundy  deciphered 
considerable.  In  the  first  place  the  Indian  had  for 
some  reason  changed  his  mind  within  the  last  few 
hours  and  was  now  desirous  of  Bundy's  company 
during  a  winter's  trapping.  Bundy  believed  that  the 


28  ONAWAGO 

territory  in  question  must  be  one  with  which  he  was 
altogether  unacquainted,  even  through  fellow  trap- 
pers. 

So,  complying  with  the  Indian's  command,  Bundy 
deposited  his  accouterments  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe, 
and  shoving  the  light  craft  from  shore,  sprang  in, 
himself.  Assuming  a  position  in  the  center  and 
availing  himself  of  a  spare  paddle  the  Indian  had 
provided  for  the  occasion,  he  lent  himself  to  the 
paddling  and  with  his  aid  the  bark  canoe  seemed  to 
strain  in  every  fibre  as  it  glided  across  the  water. 

Only  a  faint  breath  of  air  flitted  over  the  lake, 
fanning  little  riffles  in  the  otherwise  glassy  sheen  that 
lay  broken  only  by  a  long,  low  swell,  the  last  visible 
trace  of  a  recent  storm,  that  slowly  lifted  and  fell  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  Great  Lake.  Now  and  then  a 
scolding  flock  of  gulls,  startled  from  their  rest  upon 
the  water,  arose  with  harsh  clamor  and  retreated 
farther  seaward.  Occasionally  the  discordant  and 
shrill  cry  of  a  solitary  bird,  hovering  over  the  water, 
interrupted  the  morning  quietude;  while  the  inarticu- 
late swish  of  the  paddle  and  the  rhythmic  gurgle  of 
water  at  the  bow  of  the  canoe,  were  the  only  other 
sounds  that  came  to  their  ears.  Naught  else  broke 
the  monotony  of  the  morning — simply  the  sun-lit 


ONAWAGO  29 

sweep  of  shining  sea,  the  long,  white  line  of  gleam- 
ing strand  and  a  long  reach  of  the  high  clay  bluffs 
frowning  austerely  down  upon  them.  At  intervals 
they  spoke,  but  their  conversing  was,  as  a  rule,  some 
short-cut  sentence.  The  morning  passed  and  not  a 
human  being  did  they  see,  nor  a  woodland  denizen; 
naught  of  life  besides  themselves  and  the  innumerable 
hoards  of  sea  birds  and  water-fowl. 

The  noon-day  sun  was  blazing  when  Bundy,  con- 
sulting his  shadow  which  fell  directly  in  his  front, 
addressed  his  companion: 

"Well,  Moccasin,  my  inner  promptings  insist  that 
we  push  to  shore  and  fall  to  in  due  form  upon  the  all- 
sustaining.  See,  'tis  now  mid-day,  and  long  before 
the  sun  I  had  but  a  reasonable  fill.  'Tis  a  buck- 
noble  as  ever  shed  antler — here  in  my  pack,  that 
furnishes  us  with  a  piece  of  his  carcass  on  which  to 
pacify  ourselves." 

The  Indian  remained  verbally  silent,  but  instantly 
the  canoe  swung  landward.  At  the  same  time  Bundy 
heard  an  exclamation  of  surprise  uttered  by  his  com- 
rade; and,  directing  his  eye  to  the  quarter  prescribed 
by  Moccasin's  dictating  finger,  descried  a  minute 
dark  spot  far  to  southward,  close  out  from  shore. 


30  ONAWAGO 

For  quite  a  minute,  both  riveted  their  attention  upon 
it;  yet  neither  spoke. 

Seldom  is  the  atmosphere  of  southern  Lake  Mich- 
igan perfectly  clear.  A  haze  usually  hangs  there, 
blurring  the  distinctiveness  of  horizon  and  deceiving 
the  eye  as  to  actual  discernment  of  distance,  illusively 
placing  an  object  farther  away.  Thus  now  that  afar 
off  the  southward  shore  seemed  miles  further  away 
than  in  reality.  Yet  even  so,  'twas  certainly  a  craft 
of  some  description. 

It  was  after  they  had  landed  and  were  seated  cross- 
legged  upon  the  stainless,  warm,  sun-beaten  sand  of 
the  beach,  while  each  was  applying  himself  dexter- 
ously to  the  appeasing  of  that  appetite  characteristic  of 
the  woodsman,  that  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  the 
Indian  spoke  in  his  customary  reserved  tone,  though 
resorting  to  the  native  tongue  of  the  Great  Algonquin 
nation  as  more  emphatic  and  expressive  than  was 
English  in  his  command,  and  which  Bundy  readily 
understood  sufficiently  to  reply  herewith. 

"Many  winter's  snows  have  come  and  melted 
away  since  my  people  last  dug  up  the  hatchet  against 
the  palefaces.  Many  lives  will  come  and  pass  away 
and  my  people  will  still  smoke  the  calumet  in  their 
council-lodges  with  their  enemies.  They  fear  to  turn 


ONAWAGO  31 

the  palm  away.  They  no  longer  are  warrior-braves; 
they  are  cowardly  curs.  My  tribe  is  broken  like  wind- 
fallen  oak;  the  members  are  scattered  as  leaves.  The 
same  moon  shines  in  the  heavens  that  shall  look  upon 
them  wandering  in  hunting-grounds  far  past  the  Great 
Flowing  Water.  My  people  go,  but  Shakwaukakuk 
stays.  The  Great  White  Father  in  Detroit  says: 
"Go!"  They  fear  him  and  obey.  But  the  son  of 
Topinabe  stays." 

"Then  did  I  actually  understand  you  to  mean 
that  Governor  Mason  at  last  has  ordered  your  tribe's 
banishment  after  holding  off  so  long?"  asked  Bundy 
in  the  same  tongue. 

"The  Moon  of  Falling  Leaves  will  not  sleep 
before  the  Great  White  Father's  will  shall  have  been 
done.  His  pale-face  warriors  drive  my  people  in  a 
drove  like  sheep  to  unknown  hunting  grounds  in  the 
Land  of  the  Setting  Sun.  But  Shakwaukakuk  stays 
alone.  He  will  not  turn  his  face  to  a  land  he  does 
not  know.  Rather  will  he  live  like.a  hiding  bear  in 
the  woods  he  loves.  Rather  will  a  son  of  the  Great 
Warrior  Chief  Topinabe  die  than  be  disgraced  and  a 
coward." 

"Ah,  then,  that  was  why  you  changed  your  mind 
this  morning;  that  was  the  mission  of  the  soldiers. 


32  ONAWAGO 

Mayhap  in  yonder  canoe  is  more  of  your  people  who, 
like  you,  will  not  be  driven  from  the  lands  they  love. 
If  I  do  say  it,  Moccasin,  your  people  are  a  scoundrelly 
set,  blackguards  and  vagabonds,  almost  every  one  of 
them.  If  there  were  more  of  them  like  you,  'twould 
be  far  better." 

"But  the  white  man  is  a  thief,"  exclaimed  the 
Pottawattamie  with  sudden  vehemence.  "Why  does 
he  want  the  earth?" 

Bundy  laughed  and  evaded  reply  by  expressing  a 
desire  to  be  journeying  onward,  now  that  the  meal 
was  ended.  But  the  Indian  replied  by  waving  an  arm 
in  the  direction  of  the  on-coming  craft,  and  shaking 
his  head  in  the  negative. 

"Mebbe  know  'urn,  wait.  Mebbe  Pottawattamies. 
Mebbe  not.  Wait  'n'  see  'urn." 

The  habit  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  any  fellow 
way-farer  is  a  practice  and  could  almost  be  termed 
second  nature  of  the  hunter  and  the  frontiersman. 
Therefore  Bundy  needed  no  further  solicitation  in 
submitting  to  the  Indian's  desire  and  gladly  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  rest  his  fatigued  body 
after  the  labors  of  the  morning. 

So  following  Moccasin's  example,  he  threw  him- 
self prostrate  upon  the  sand  and  before  the  lapse  of 


ONAWAGO  33 

many  minutes,  profound  slumber  had  overcome  them 
both. 

Whatever  it  may  have  been — whether  caused  by 
the  barely  perceptible  swish  of  the  paddle,  the  gentle 
gurgle  of  water  at  the  bow,  or  more  probably  rendered 
by  that  inevitable  discomfiture  a  sharp  and  searching 
scrutiny  brings  upon  anyone,  Bundy  aroused  himself 
even  as  the  unknown  craft  drew  within  intelligible 
hailing  distance.  For  some  time  Bundy  reclined 
upon  an  elbow  critcially  surveying  it  as  it  slowly  ap- 
proached. 

There  was  nothing  singularly  striking  in  the 
general  aspect  of  the  craft.  The  craft  itself  was  of 
birch  bark,  modelled  and  in  dimensions  similar  to 
that  of  Moccasin's  manufacture.  Two  French-Indian 
half  breeds — the  type  commonly  known  as  the  voy- 
ageur,  that  most  widely  met  with  traveler  of  that  date 
in  the  wild  territory  of  the  great  Northwest — were 
its  sole  occupants.  And  there  was  nothing,  forsooth 
about  them  to  provoke  comment;  and  yet  as  Bundy 
reclined'  there,  studying  the  boat  with  the  pene- 
trating and  experienced  eye  of  the  pioneer,  an  inde- 
finable something  impressed  him  as  being  suggestive 
throughout  it,  even  before  it  had  drawn  sufficiently 


34  GNAW  AGO 

close  to  allow  him  to  note  its  one  extraordinary 
feature. 

Lying  directly  amidships  and  filling  the  space 
between  the  gunwhale  and  the  waterline,  gleamed  a 
great  human  eye.  The  pupil  and  iris  were  jet  black, 
the  ball  heavily  blood-shot.  Glaring  steadfastly  for- 
ward, its  effect  was  terrible,  appalling  in  its  virulent, 
life-like  gleam. 

"A  particularly  queersome  looking  outfit,  I  should 
jedge,"  at  length  Bundy  muttered.  Then  aloud: 
"Wake  up  there,  red-skin,  an'  take  a  look  at  our 
visitors  hereaway." 

"At  Bundy's  words,  both  breeds  started  appre- 
hensively, the  one  forward,  instantly  signaling  for 
silence.  He  cautiously  laid  aside  his  paddle,  placed 
one  finger  to  his  lips,  shook  his  head  in  the  negative 
and  pointed  with  the  other  hand  at  what  resembled 
a  large  heap  of  luggage  in  the  bow  over  which  had 
been  thrown  a  black  cloth. 

Bundy  beheld  these  maneuvers  with  astonishment, 
and  as  thenceforward  the  breeds  evinced  a  desire  to 
pass  unquestioned  and  in  silence,  Bundy  respected 
their  reticence  and  held  his  tongue. 

The  canoe  continued  on  its  way.  It  crossed 
Bundy's  front  and  doubtless  would  have  proceeded 


ONAWAGO  35 

with  no  further  light  upon  the  mystery  that  lurked 
behind  the  enigmatical  behavior  on  the  part  of  its 
inmates,  had  not  suddenly  the  cloth  stirred  from  some 
movement  underneath.  Then  slowly  a  long,  scrawny 
arm  appeared,  naked  to  the  shoulder,  pointing  di- 
rectly upward.  The  naked  member  seemed  woven 
in  the  web  of  cloth  like  some  uncouth  magical  en- 
chantment. 

But  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  Suddenly  from 
beneath  the  cloth  broke  forth  the  wail  of  an  infant; 
the  apparition  arm  instantly  vanished  and  the  canoe 
continued  its  course  up  the  lake. 


36  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MIAMA 
GHOSTS. 

Stretching  for  miles  along  the  coast  of  Lake  Mich- 
igan, huge  mounds  of  wind-blown  sand  stand  forth 
along  the  shore  like  languidly  arranged  battalions  of 
a  giant  army,  column  after  column  and  troop  after 
troop.  Gazing  intently  across  the  mighty  breadth  of 
listless  waters  that  lap  incessantly  at  their  bases,  they 
stand  with  uncovered  heads  and  expressionless  faces 
like  mute  watchers  stationed  by  nature  to  guard  her 
silent  places. 

Chain  after  chain  they  rise  for  miles  low  off  the 
level  country  which  stretches  away  eastward  from 
their  barren  slopes.  Lakewards  they  rise  in  gradual 
acclivities.  Landwards  they  fall  in  precipitous  slides. 
Their  sand  is  ever  shifting.  Vegetation  cannot  for 
long  endure.  Scarce  a  shrub  breaks  the  monotony 
and  austere  desolation  of  their  slopes,  and  they — 
few  that  they  are — cluster  together  in  seeming  sym- 


ONAWAGO  37 

pathy,  thrusting  their  tendrils  far  earthwards  merely 
to  sustain  the  few  shriveled  leaves  that  cling  to  their 
branches. 

Scattered  sparsely  along  their  summits,  stunted 
pine  or  scraggy  oaks  strive  almost  in  vain  for  exist- 
ence, rearing  their  macerated  arms  toward  heaven, 
beseeching  greater  livelihood  for  their  famined 
trunks— while  here  and  there  amongst  them,  bleached 
and  bare,  stands  silent  in  grim  appeal,  some  long 
perished  brother,  vanquished  by  the  tireless  struggle 
for  existence. 

Deep,  narrow  valleys  interwind  among  the  hills, 
filled  to  a  density  with  tangled  undergrowth — under- 
growth that  is  nigh  impassable— offering  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  desolate  hillsides  above  them.  Ivy- 
growth  predominates  there.  Enormous  woodbines, 
grape,  poison  ivies  and  various  briar  species  writhe 
and  twist  themselves  into  impenetrable  masses — in- 
vulnerable tyrants  of  aught  their  long  arms  may 
reach — and,  fastening  themselves  upon  the  brush- 
growth  or  swinging  into  the  dwarfed  timber,  slowly 
usurp  their  victims'  scant  vitality,  rearing  their  heads 
high  in  air  in  defiant  attitudes  to  their  struggling 
hosts. 

In  all,  'tis  well  an  arid  waste,  a  region  of  absolute 


38  ONAWAGO 

desolation,  almost  destitution — worthless,  fruitless, 
mile  after  mile  of  sand,  endless  unfathomable  sand. 

The  somber  shades  of  decending  twilight  were 
glancing  athwart  the  hills  as  Bundy  and  the  Potta- 
watamie  that  evening  stood  upon  the  lofty  crest  of 
the  highest  eminence  of  such  a  region.  It  was  a 
gigantic  dune.  Its  bald  head  reared  high  above  the 
now  darkened  forest  that,  far  beneath  them,  limitless 
stretched  away  landward.  Its  height  commanded  a 
panoramic  view  out  over  the  surrounding  country 
and  a  spectacular  lookout  upon  the  grand  old  lake 
beneath  that  rolled  to  the  west,  a  broad  sheet  of 
limpid  water,  stretching  far  past  the  black  horizon 
line,  behind  which  now  the  sun  had  sunk.  To  the 
north  and  away  to  the  south  extended  the  seemingly 
endless  chains  of  smaller  dunes,  one  rising  beyond 
the  other,  sinister  in  their  monotonous  contour  of 
undulation. 

"Not  knowin'  as  t'  you,  but  to  me  now,  Moccasin, 
these  wastes  kinder  make  me  feel  uneasy  in  my 
narves.  Can't  say  as  how  I'm  likin'  t'  hang  about  in 
their  company  longer'n  I  jest  have  to,  and  I'd  like 
right  well  to  know  where  you  set  yer  foot  fer  this 
morning  an'  why  ye  climbed  me  up  this  sand,  sink- 


ONAWAGO  39 

ing  at  every  step  to  my  ankles,  just  to  view  that 
worthless  waste." 

"Look!" 

The  Indian  bent  slightly  forward  bringing  his 
finger  to  bear  in  a  line  indicating  a  north-easterly 
direction,  where  Bundy  saw  a  mile  or  so  away,  two 
little  lakes  gleaming  like  silver  among  the  tree-tops. 

"Dat  um  place,"  explained  the  Indian.  "Heep 
good  place  for  live,  fish,  trap,  hunt — mebbe  farm  too 
some.  Creek  gotum  beaver." 

"So  that's  the  place,  is  it?  Well,  I'm  right  glad  t' 
know  it.  But  I'm  seein'  nary  creek.  Where  is  there 
a  creek?" 

Without  a  word  the  Indian  knelt  upon  the  sand 
at  his  feet  and  immediately  sketched  with  a  forefinger 
the  outline  of  the  two  lakes.  Commencing  at  the 
northern  extremity  of  either,  he  drew  two  lines  repre- 
senting their  outlets.  Soon  connecting  these,  he 
followed  their  junction  to  where  it  emptied  into  the 
Great  Lake.  Indicating  a  particular  point  in  the 
stream's  course,  the  red-skin  uttered  once  more  the 
word  "beaver"  and  arose  to  his  feet. 

But  continuing,  he  pointed  out  over  the  leafy 
surface  of  the  forest  and  followed  in  gesture  the  wind- 
ings of  the  creek  in  likeness  of  the  sand  sketch  at  his 


40  ONAWAGO 

feet.  And  in  the  vast  sea  of  leaves,  a  slight  declina- 
tion indeed  was  traceable  in  a  serpentine  route 
through  the  forest,  substantiating  its  course  in  the 
direction  of  the  mountain  of  sand.  But  at  the  tim- 
ber's edge  it  terminated,  no  suggestion  perceivable 
of  its  further  flow.  Moccasin  vouched  its  course 
through  the  valley — a  deep  long  gulley  that  hugged 
the  foot  of  the  sand  mountain. 

"But  hark  ye,  red-skin,  ye  tell  me  it  flows  here 
below  us?  Not  one  glint  of  water  can  I  see.  I  like 
not  t'  think  of  yer  trifling  wi'  my  creditin's.  Stands 
not  to  reason  a  creek's  likely  below  us  here — here  in 
this  big  gulley,  an'  we  not  able  t'  see  a  sign  o'  it. 
'Neath  the  vegetation  ye  say?  Not  likely.  Yet  to  a 
sartinty  'tis  dense  down  there  and  dark  now,  an'  I 
recollect  now  o'  seein'  the  water  sinking  int'  the 
beach— but  little  can  I  believe  'twas  from  a  creek  an' 
itself  not  t'  be  seen.  But  maybe  so — maybe  so — fer 
strange  and  extraordinary  happenin's  like  this  occur 
in  the  wilderness  arid  this  looks  the  place  well  suited 
fer  sichlike." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  sunlight  seemed  suddenly 
to  pale  and  the  western  heavens  glowed  more  fierce- 
ly with  fire;  the  lake  lay  a  metallic  expanse  of  silver 
and  bronze  interwoven.  The  barrier  hills  rose 


ONAWAGO  41 

sullen  and  dark  upon  the  landscape,  outlined  in  inky 
blackness  against  the  fiery  background  of  the  western 
sky.  Interminably  eastward  stretched  the  forest,  now 
a  leafy  canopy  of  gloom  with  solely  the  two  lumin- 
ous lakes  shining  from  the  darkness  like  the  faces 
of  mirrors. 

"I  vow  'tis  a  goodsome  sweep  one  gets  from  here. 
A  higher  dune  I  never  saw  an*  I've  gone  the  lakes 
from  end  to  end.  Now  I  reckon  if  those  two  shinin' 
bodies  were  the  eyes  of  a  painter,  I'd  take  me  off 
there  away.  But  seein'  as  how  they're  your  two 
lakes,  Moccasin,  'tis  sartin  'twill  be  far  better  to  camp 
here  the  night  an'  start  bright  and  early  with  the 
canoe  up  the  creek.  This  gulch  down  'longside  us  is 
as  likely  a  place  as  we'll  find  to  pass  a  good  night's 
rest  in;  an'  if  only  we  had'n't  disposed  of  all  that 
buck,  we  well  might  enjoy  a  meal  worthy  to  set 
before  Her  Majesty,  the  newly- crowned  British 
Queen,  who,  as  I  lately  learn,  just  took  the  throne 
this  here  last  June." 

As  Bundy  cited  the  culminating  words,  he  chanced 
to  glance  for  the  first  time  at  his  silent  partner— and 
started  with  surprise  upon  beholding  the  Potta- 
wattamie. 

The   Indian   was  poised   slightly  forward.     His 


42  ONAWAGO 

magnificent  figure  was  drawn  to  its  full  height,  and 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  was  placed  upon  his 
lips,  a  signal  for  silence;  his  left  arm  was  raised  and 
directed  forward  and  downward  into  the  deep  gully 
Bundy  had  suggested  as  being  convenient  in  which 
to  spend  the  night.  The  fading  lumination  of  the 
after-glow  gave  a  golden  russet  to  his  naturally  swarthy 
countenance:  his  eye  gleamed  and  spoke  the  super- 
stitious awe  evinced  upon  his  face. 

"Ugh!     No  go  urn  there.     Listen." 

Bundy  listened  attentively  for  some  moments. 
Then  he  casually  remarked: 

"I'm  hearing  nothin'  more'n  a  few  leaves  rustlin', 
Moccasin." 

"Shut  up,  I  tell  you!     Keep  still!     Listen!" 

For  several  minutes  —  for  a  tedious  while  on 
Bundy's  part — both  men  listened  with  profound  assi- 
duity. And  while  they  listed,  the  dusk  slowly  became 
darkness.  The  fire  of  the  west  almost  completely 
died  away:  the  face  of  the  Great  Lake  became  a  plain 
of  bronze  green.  The  forest  behind  them  reposed 
somber  and  silent.  The  neighboring  sand  hills 
loomed  spectre-like  and  colossal  through  the  half- 
light  with  their  hollows  bathed  in  deepest  oblivion. 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness.     Bundy  was  close 


ONAWAGO  43 

upon  venturing  again  to  break  the  irksome  silence, 
when  slowly,  faintly  from  out  the  darkness  of  the 
gulch  beside  the  giant  hill,  a  low  moan  stole  upon 
the  still  night  air.  Beginning,  it  was  low  and  barely 
audible;  then  gradually  it  swelled  to  a  long,  piercing 
wail;  then  slowly  it  sank  to  a  gasping  sob — and  died 
away. 

After  a  period  of  uninterrupted  quiet — a  quiet  so 
tense  that  not  a  leaf  volunteered  its  rustle  toward 
breaking  the  spell— once  again  the  agonized  groan 
arose,  creeping  out  upon  the  still  night  air  from 
the  dismal  recesses  of  the  gully  in  the  same  long- 
drawn  wail  of  distress  as  before.  Increasing  in  volume 
it  attained  its  former  height  of  tone,  but  instead  of 
abating,  assumed  a  measure  high  and  shrill,  ascend- 
ing to  a  demoniacal  shreik,  weird  and  wayward. 
For  a  moment  it  held  this  pitch,  then  slowly  gave 
way  to  a  sort  of  jerking  gasp  that  suddenly  ended  in 
a  wild  and  hysterical  laugh. 

"What  is  it,  Moccasin?  What  can  this  thing  be?" 
The  red-skin  was  gazing  upon  the  face  of  the 
white  man  with  an  expression  denoting  a  com- 
mingling of  mirth,  curiosity  and  superstitious  awe,  as 
dropping  his  voice  to  a  low  whisper,  he  answered  in 
his  native  tongue: 


44  ONAWAGO 

"The  ghost  of  the  warrior  flogs  the  spirit  of  his 
squaw.  She  begs  for  mercy  and  he  laughs.  Listen." 

Again  arose  the  moans.  As  the  wail  grew  to  a 
shriek  and  fell  in  turn  to  the  exultant  laugh,  an  icy 
shudder  played  throughout  the  mystified  Bundy.  He 
stood  nigh  aghast.  Twice  already  within  the  past 
several  hours  had  occurred  an  unaccountable  mani- 
festation of  the  supernatural.  Being  naturally  of  a 
religious  and  superstitious  temperament,  the  incident 
of  the  apparition-like  arm  in  the  canoe,  coupled  with 
this  present  incentive,  thwarted  his  every  struggle  to 
remain  calm  in  spite  of  his  rapidly  increasing  fear. 

"Moccasin,  have  you  ever  heard  this  thing  before? 
If  any  explanation  is  possible  for  such  horrifying 
sounds.  I  would  like  to  know  it." 

Bundy  had  addressed  his  companion  in  the  Indian 
tongue,  and  the  latter,  replying,  spoke  likewise  in  his 
native  language: 

"A  Miama  once  beat  his  squaw  to  death — a 
Miama  warrior  but  no  brave.  He  was  a  cur  of  a  dog 
and  a  young  chief  of  the  Pottawattamies  spits  upon 
him — so!" 

1  Twas  here  she  died,  here  in  this  long,  deep 
hole  between  the  hills.  The  good  spirit  was  angered, 
so  here  they  were  caused  to  stay.  He  flogs  her  with  a 


ONAWAGO  45 

whip  of  twisted  bark  that  lasts  forever.  She  whim- 
pers—sobs— begs  for  mercy.  He  dares  not  grant  it 
and  he  laughs." 

Thus  Bundy  heard  for  the  first  time  the  legend  of 
the  Miama  Ghosts  of  Indian  Hollow. 


46  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  CRY. 

jrpWAS  one  of  the  opening  nights  of  November. 
-^  The  dark  of  the  moon  was  on,  but  the  sky  was 
cloudless  and  the  stars  blinked  coldly  through  the 
frosty  air.  A  thin,  white  mist  arose  slowly  from 
off  the  water  and  drifted  away  into  the  encompassing 
forest  as  the  cold  settled.  The  small  lake  lay  without 
a  blemish  to  its  glossy  surface  nor  a  glimmer  of  light, 
save  the  greenish  reflection  of  the  stars  and  an  occa- 
sional few  stray  beams  that  flashed  from  a  small  camp- 
fire  on  the  southern  shore.  And  as  these  beams 
strayed  out  over  the  oily-smooth  waters,  a  solitary 
loon,  sailing  composedly  about,  jeered  disdainfully 
with  his  demoniacal  laugh  at  their  incursion  on  his 
domain. 

The  encompassing  forest  was  of  that  type  known 
in  common  as  "oak  openings."  It's  gloomy  gran- 
deur now  lay  wrapped  in  absolute  quietude,  and  only 
the  flickering  rays  of  the  campfire  flashed  a  circle  of 
pale  lumination  down  its  vistas  and  upward  into  the 


ONAWAGO  47 

frost-bronzed  foliage  that  still  adorned  the  trees. 
The  fire  burned  in  a  small  cleared  space  beside  a  log 
lodge,  flooding  this  small  space  and  the  exposed  side 
of  the  lodge  with  light. 

No  one  moved  about  the  place  and  a  weird  mel- 
ancholy hovered  about  the  lonely  scene. 

Hauled  on  land  at  the  water's  edge  lay  the 
birch  canoe.  The  fire-light  glanced  upon  its  tawny 
yellow  and  black-patched  sides.  Just  over  the  canoe 
suspended  from  an  oaken  bough,  hung  the  carcass  of 
a  deer.  Three  dead  beavers,  unskinned,  lay  at  the 
base  of  an  over-spreading  oak.  Upon  the  sides  of 
the  shack  was  spread  the  pelt  of  a  Canada  lynx,  while 
a  brace  of  headless  grouse,  together  with  wild  geese, 
were  thrown  near  the  door. 

The  fire  burned  low,  unreplenished,  until  at 
length  even  a  sputtering  flame  that  had  persistently 
clung  to  a  resinous  knot,  suddenly  vanished,  and  the 
ruddy  glare  of  the  coals  shone  like  the  eyes  of  a  wild 
cat  in  the  deep  obscurity. 

Suddenly  and  noiselessly  from  out  the  darkness 
glided  the  stalwart  form  of  the  Indian.  Closely  fol- 
lowing, Bundy  threw  an  arm-load  of  firewood  upon 
the  smoldering  embers,  then  seated  himself  cross- 


48  ONAWAGO 

legged  upon  the  ground.  A  long  silence  ensued,  first 
broken  by  the  latter. 

"Moccasin,  it  seems  strange;  it  is  strange!  The 
cry  o'  thet  painter  aint  jist  natural  to  me.  'Tain't 
no-wise  the  first  time  thet  I  have  hearn  'em  call  in 
the  night  time  upon  their  gods  like  a  heathen  upon 
his  idols,  er  a  bawlin'  woman  weepin'  fer  her  dead. 
An'  this  critter,  I  say,  red-skin,  don't  bawl  RIGHT! 
'Tis  strange,  I  say,  Moccasin;  'tis  onnatural  and 
mighty  strange." 

"Does  my  brother  think  the  Miama  Squaw  comes 
a  mile  to  worry  him  with  her  whimperings?"  replied 
the  Indian  in  his  native  tongue. 

'Tm  venturin'  neither  a  yea  ner  nay.  All  I'm 
sayin'  is  thet  strange  an  onnatural  things  ha'  been 
happenin'  since  we  left  Joe  town — strange  on  the  way 
an*  strange  since  we're  here.  Well  ye  know  that 
this  wily  catamount  is  leaving  marks — tracks  they  sure 
ain't — thet  yeyerself  ain't  accountin'  fer.  Ner  can  ye 
yerself  f oiler  'em.  Look  at  'em  as  what  we  found 
over  'cross  the  lake  this  very  morning — what  could 
ye  make  'o  them  now.  I'd  like  to  know.  Nettin' 
of  a  wicker  basket!  Where's  thar  a  critter  o'  the 
woods  wi'  sich  a  foot?" 

He  was  answered  by  the  wild  and  quavering  laugh 


ONAWAGO  49 

of  the  loon.  Far  down  through  the  woods  a  lonely 
owl  dolefully  hooted;  and  afar  in  the  distance,  the 
woeful  howling  of  a  leader-wolf  bore  upon  the  night. 
Both  the  men  for  a  long  while  remained  silent. 

Bundy  had  been  intent  upon  his  words.  This 
was  alone  obvious  by  an  involuntary  and  suspicious 
glance  he  continually  cast  into  the  shadowy  darkness 
about  him  where  the  forms  of  the  tree-trunks  were 
dancing  from  the  firelight.  The  firelight  was  re- 
flected full  upon  his  weather-beaten  countenance, 
heightening  the  ruggedness  of  his  features  and  betray- 
ing a  palsied  twitching  at  the  eye-brows.  His  flint- 
lock reclined  across  his  knees  and  his  fingers  nerv- 
ously sought  and  fumbled  the  lock;  while  he  ever  and 
anon  reassured  himself,  apprehensively,  as  to  the 
state  of  the  flint  and  priming.  In  fine,  his  entire 
demeanor  was  that  of  a  man  expectant  of  momentary 
action. 

But  on  the  contrary,  the  conduct  of  the  Indian 
was  of  petrified  intensity.  He  was  seated  on  a  short 
log  a  number  of  yards  back  from  the  fire,  whose 
strong  glare  threw  his  whole  person  into  view.  The 
fire  flashed  full  upon  his  tawny  countenance,  height- 
ening his  habitual  exprestion  of  vigilance  and  sagacity 
to  one  of  savage  and  wild  ferocity.  His  dark  eye, 


50  ONAWAGO 

usually  glancing  and  restless,  was  now  riveted  upon 
the  fire  before  him.  His  attitude  was  one  of  im- 
pressive dignity.  His  magnificent  figure  was  drawn 
into  that  state  of  inflexibility  exhibited  when  a  startled 
animal  strains  its  every  sense  to  distinguish  the 
slightest  sound  perceptible.  His  ears  distened  in 
their  eagerness,  all  his  mental  and  physical  powers 
seemed  enlisted  to  detect  the  feeblest  vibration  that 
might  arise  from  out  the  stillness  and  blackness  of  the 
forest. 

Bundy  again  started  to  speak  when  slowly  and 
cautiously  the  hand  of  the  Indian,  raised  in  dissent, 
invoking  silence — but  his  eyes  retained  their  pinioned 
stare  into  the  fire. 

The  warning  was  needless.  For  suddenly  from 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  a  loud,  piercing  cry 
startled  the  silence,  penetrating  for  miles  down 
through  the  broken  quiet  of  the  night  and  reverberat- 
ing in  long  undulating  waves  of  uncouth  sound  for 
several  seconds  ere  it  finally  died  away  into  the 
forest  across  the  lake. 

Expressive  terror  overswept  the  white  man's  face, 
while  that  of  the  Indian's  betrayed  total  dissolution  of 
self-control.  With  the  sounding  of  the  cry,  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  standing  with  superstitious  dread 


GNAW  AGO  51 

painted  upon  his  swarthy  visage  until  the  last  linger- 
ing cadences  ceased  to  throb  in  the  distant,  resound- 
ing fastnesses.  Then  he  knelt,  placing  his  ear  close 
to  the  earth.  For  some  moments  he  listened  intently; 
then  with  face  expressing  the  utter  futility  of  his  inge- 
nuity, he  resumed  his  seat. 

A  tense  silence  succeeded,  during  which  each 
gazed  into  the  wild  eyes  of  the  other  in  dreaded  ex- 
pectancy of  the  cry  being  repeated.  But  the  forest 
remained  in  a  dumber,  more  awe-stricken  silence 
than  before,  as  though  all  forces  of  the  earth's  mighty 
organism  had  suddenly  ceased  to  throb. 

"Thet's  no  painter,  I  tell  ye,  Moccasin;  thet's  no 
painter!  If  ye  can  name  sich  a  cry,  do  so,  but  fer 
myself,  I  think  it  not  of  arth!  Satan  himself  could 
not  clamor  more  like  a  fiend;  an'  if  'taint  him  then 
sartin  it  is  thet  it's  some  infernal  machine  o'  his'n  fer 
bringin'  evil  unt'  us." 

"Does  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  pale-face  come  to 
earth  to  whoop  a  frightful  war-cry  in  the  hours  of  the 
darkness?"  returned  the  deep  guttural  of  the  Potta- 
wattamie  in  his  native  tongue.  "The  Wicked  Spirit 
of  the  red-skin  lets  his  voice  sleep  forever." 

"Whether  those  noises  jist  heard,  red-skin,  war 
uttered  by  the  devil  whom  ye  call  the  Wicked  Spirit, 


52  ONAWAGO 

er  whether  the  outcry  o'  hell  itself,  I  cannot  say;  but 
I  tell  ye  once  an*  fer  all,  that  'tis  gi'n  as  no  good 
omen,  an'  the  sooner  we  quit  these  parts,  t'  my 
thinkin',  the  better  off  we'll  be.  Tomorrow's  sun 
will,  afore  it  sets,  find  my  face  turned—." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  cry.  Again  it  arose, 
hounding  down  the  silence  loud  and  piercing  as 
before — and  accompanied  afterward  by  the  same 
unnaturally  overwrought  quiescence  as  had  pre- 
viously predominated. 

Then  as  both  men  listened,  sickly  over-awed,  sud- 
denly the  forest  shook  with  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle. 
Casting  a  wild,  tiger-like  glare  about  him— fierce  as 
that  of  the  caged  beast  itself— the  Indian  slowly  arose, 
turned,  and  without  a  word,  his  lithe  figure  disap- 
peared within  encircling  blackness  of  the  night. 

Out  on  the  lake  the  loon  raised  his  wild  and  hys- 
terical laughter.  Away  down  through  the  woods 
sounded  the  doleful  mourning  of  the  owl;  and  far 
away — away  in  the  distance  until  it  came  as  barely 
audible — the  chase-cry  of  the  pack  floated  across  the 
forest  fastness. 


ONAWAGO  53 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  FINDING 

A  LONE,  and  so  unexpectedly  alone,  Bundy  sat 
-*•*-  as  in  a  trance,  scarce  daring  even  to  think. 
What  could  be  the  interpretation  of  the  rifle-shot? 
Could  it  be  there  were  others  beside  himself  and  his 
fellow  trapper  in  this  unbroken  wilderness?  Or  was 
this  latter  interposition  an  operation  of  that  selfsame 
agency  that  had  conducted  those  former  proceedings? 

Even  as  he  sat  thus  conjecturing,  he  started  anew. 
Faintly  from  across  the  lake  was  born  the  peevish 
whimper  of  a  small  child— a  whimper  that  Bundy 
shuddered  to  remember  he  had  heard  coupled  with 
an  incident  several  weeks  before. 

Risk — if  any  there  should  be — Bundy  knew  lay  in 
remaining  within  the  radiance  of  the  fire.  He  there- 
upon immediately  went  to  the  canoe,  lifted  it  to  the 
water,  stepped  gingerly  into  it,  and  eased  it  gently 
from  shore.  Then  crouched  low  in  the  stern,  he  let 
it  float  gradually  out  into  the  quiet  waters. 

Slowly  the  canoe  drifted  out  into  the  open  lake. 


54  ONAWAGO 

Black  and  tall  the  gloom-wrapped  forest  loomed 
sinister  in  grim  appeal  against  the  stars,  encircling 
with  its  wall-like  barrier  the  two  score  acres  of  watery 
space.  The  air  was  chill,  almost  frosty,  and  the 
ghostly  vapors  hovered  low  over  the  surface  of  the 
waters.  Qverhead  through  the  clear,  ethereal  trans- 
parency, the  stars  blinked  coldly,  shedding  a  steely, 
almost  green  lustre  down  upon  the  silent  lake,  ren- 
dering a  narrow  breadth  of  light-green  light — to  stand 
away  to  shore  in  whichever  direction  Bundy  chanced 
to  peer. 

The  same  unperturbed  solitude  prevailed,  and 
since  the  wailing  of  the  child  not  even  the  twitter  of 
a  sleeping  bird  had  been  lifted  in  the  tensity. 

For  a  long  time  the  canoe  drifted  slowly  outward 
from  shore;  then  rested  immovably  upon  the  face  of 
the  oily-smooth  waters,  while  Bundy  sat  with  keen 
senses  riveted  on  the  northern  shore.  For  from  there 
had  sounded  both  the  shot,  the  wail  and  the  last  cry. 

Suddenly  a  series  of  metallic  strikes  sounded  nois- 
ily upon  the  deathly  stillness — also  from  the  northern 
shore.  Then  presently  a  glint  of  feeble  light  gleamed 
through  the  tree-trunks  and  almost  simultaneously  a 
stern  masculine  voice  challenged:  "Who  goes! 
Halt,  I  say,  or  I'll  fire,  and  I'll " 


ONAWAGO  55 

"Friend,"  came  in  answer  to  the  deep  guttural  of 
Moccasin. 

Gradually  the  light  strengthened  and  Bundy, 
through  the  intervening  tree  trunks,  could  descry  in 
silhouette  the  forms  of  two  men,  one,  Moccasin,  bent 
above  and  examining  something  that  lay  upon  the 
ground  and  strong  within  the  fire  light;  the  other  a 
man  clad  in  civilian's  clothes  and  at  that  moment  in 
particular,  engaged  in  raming  a  charge  into  his 
muzzle-loader. 

"See  here,"  then  added  the  voice. 

"Ugh!"  ejaculated  the  Pottawatamie. 

"And  a  white  child  at  that!  Very  strange,  seems 
to  me — very  strange.  I  know  you  'cause  I  saw  you 
over  'cross  there  at  your  fire;  and  I  was  standing  right 
here  in  this  spot  looking  across  at  you  and  wondering 
if  I  had  best  call  you,  when  all  to  once  the  infernal 
screech  bellered  right  in  my  ears.  Then  something 
moved  in  the  dark  over  there  where  you  are  now — 
a  something  that  looked  neither  human  nor  animal 
and  was  jumping  about  nimbler  than  a  frolicking 
fawn.  On  all  fours  first  it  seemed.  Then  when  I 
fired,  it  straightened  onto  its  hinders  and  vanished 
like  a  spirit.  And  that  there  is  what  I  find.  It's 


56  ON  AW  AGO  * 

beyond  me;  but  I'm  going  to  stop  thinking  about  it 
for  it's  sure  getting  on  my  nerves." 

Bundy,  meanwhile,  had  propelled  his  light  craft 
noiselessly  across  the  small  expanse  of  the  lake  and 
by  now  was  near  as  the  depth  of  the  water  would 
allow.  Stepping  onto  shore  and  drawing  the  canoe 
partially  thereupon  behind  him,  he  strode  over  to 
the  new-comer  and  genially  offered  a  hand. 

"How  comes  it  that  we  have  a  caller  to  our  parts," 
he  said. 

"Content  yourselves  as  to  my  being  no  encroacher 
upon  your  stakings.  I'm  merely  prospecting,  looking 
about  for  a  piece  of  suitable  land  to  take  up — to 
homestead,  you  understand." 

"Tonight  I  was  encamped  a  mile  or  so  east  of 
here.  These  infernal  screechings  wouldn't  let  me 
sleep.  Thought  it  might  be  somebody  in  distress  and 
somehow  or  other  I  strayed  over  here,  and  here  I 
am,  just  as  you  see  me — a  well  meaning  man — hop- 
ing to  make  your  better  acquaintance.  My  name's 
Tom  Arnold — no  more  nor  less." 

"An'  mine's  Dave  Bundy,  stranger,  simple  Dave 
Bundy,  an'  as  ye  e'en  now  put  it,  no  more  nor  less. 
This  here  fellow  is  my  pardner,  the  only  decent, 
honest  Pottawattamie  o'  the  whole  business.  His 


ONAWAGO  57 

name's  Shakwaukskuk,  meaning  in  civilized  talk, 
"The  Open  Ear,"  an'  well  suitin'  too,  fer  ne'er  was 
a  more  sarvisable  pair  possessed  by  buck  or  owl.  He 
goes  ginrally  by  the  name  of  Moccasin,  got  from 
dealin'  in  their  trade — that  is,  makin'  'em  fer  sellin'. 
I'm  right  glad  t'  make  yer  acquaintance,  stranger,  an' 
wish  ye  a  hearty  good-morrow,  hopin'  ye'll  see  fit  t' 
favor  us  wi'  yer  company  at  our  shack,  uninvitin'  as 
it  is,  but  as  ye  know,  woodmen  hadn't  oughter  expect 
much  accommodation  in  the  way  o'  conveniences. 
But  here,  le^t's  a  peep  at  the  child." 

So  saying,  Bundy  knelt  beside  a  blanketed  babe, 
embedded  on  the  cushion-like  leafy  carpet.  Even- 
tually it  proved  a  male  child,  about  a  year  old.  It 
was  crowing  and  smiling  and  reaching  out  toward 
the  fire  with  round,  plump  arms,  perfectly  at  home 
with  its  new-found  guardians.  It  was  flaxen-haired 
and  its  eyes  were  large  and  bluish  gray,  and  its  im- 
maculate cleanliness  proved  it  had  been  tendered  ex- 
cellent treatment  at  the  hands  of  that  mysterious  one 
in  whose  keeping  it  had  been. 

"But,  men,  what  shall  we  do  with  him  now  he's 
ourn?" 


58  ONAWAGO 

"I'm  considering  that  fact  myself,  sir,"  replied 
Arnold. 

"Seeing  I'm  finder,  I  straightway  take  it  upon 
myself  to  be  keeper.  I'm  married  with  no  children. 
I'll  furnish  him  a  home,  poor  as  it  may  be  and  rear 
him  as  my  own,  though  Heaven  alone  knows  the 
the  penalty  or  reward  in  store  for  me.  But  my  con- 
science tells  me  that  my  duty  lies  with  him,  now  that 
fate  has  cast  him  in  my  path — and  so  be  it." 

,,Spoken  well,  friend;  spoken  well!  But  I  can't 
see  as  how  we'll  prevent  him  gettin'  almighty  hungry 
afore  we  can  reach  a  settlement.  St.  Joe's  nearest,  an' 
thet's  a  whole]day's  hard  paddlin'  'thout  stoppin'. 
But  I  reckon  he'll  hardly  clean  starve  in  thet  time." 

"My  home's  in  New  York  City  and  this  evening 
while  making  camp,  I  decided  this  very  piece  of 
"opening"  promised  favorable  for  breaking  in — 
more  favorable  than  any  place  I'd  found  yet — and 
to  these  parts  I  determined  to  come.  So  I'll  just 
carry  it  out.  At  St.  Joe  I'll  take  a  boat  to  Detroit, 
thence  on  through  Erie,  down  the  Big  Ditch  and 
so—." 

"Well,  well,  man!"  interrupted  the  loquacious 
Bundy,  "well,  man,  an'  ye'll  'low  me  t'  put  in  a  word 
an'  myself  wi'  it,— why,  right  well'd  I  like  to  go 


ONAWAGO  59 

along!  My  oP  home's  i'  York  State,  too.  I'll  jist 
sell  my  share  o'  the  furs  an*  go  wi'  you,  an'  fer  the 
first  time  in  six,  spend  a  winter  amongst  civilization. 
But  some  day— mayhap  years  from  now— but  some 
day,  I,  too,  '11  come  back  and  keep  ye  company  in 
yer  wilderness  home  here  on  the  lake." 

With  his  consumate  words,  Bundy  stooped  and 
gently  gathering  the  child  in  his  rough,  brawny  arms, 
was  in  the  act  of  lifting  it  from  the  ground,  when 
suddenly  he  started  as  though  stung,  gasped  and 
uttered  a  sharp  exclamation,  his  rugged,  weather- 
beaten  face  betraying  contorted  features  and  a  sickly 
pallor  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  fire. 

The  bright  scarlet  blanket  tightly  wrapped  about 
the  child  had,  with  Bundy 's  movements,  fallen  aside, 
disclosing  the  milky-white  skin  at  neck  and  chest. 
And  upon  the  little  chest,  standing  out  markedly 
against  the  milky-whiteness  of  the  skin,  were  tattooed 
in  heavy  black,  two  words:  "Bruce  Long,'*  while 
gleaming  virulently  underneath  them  as  an  eye  of  a 
serpent  gleams  in  the  sun — artfully  inscribed  in 
minature,  and  in  color,  stood  forth  that  selfsame 
mysterious  totem — a  strikingly  life-like  human  eye, 
black,  glittering  and  feverishly  blood-shot. 

Out  on  the  lake  the  loon  raised   his  wild   and 


60  ONAWAGO 

hysterical  laughter.  From  down  through  the  woods 
drifted  the  doleful  "tu-whit,  tu-whoo!"  of  the  mourn- 
ing owl;  and  from  far  away — away  in  the  distance  so 
far  that  it  came  as  barely  audible — the  chase-cry  of 
the  pack  floated  across  the  forest  fastness. 


END  OF  PART  ONE 


BOOK  II 


THE  INCANTATION 


GNAW  AGO  63 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  FORD  OF  THE  RIVER 

A  S  stated,  I  am  Dave  Bundy,  Junior.  And  I  was 
•**-  then  but  a  child  entering  my  ninth  summer 
that  memorable  spring  when  we  removed  into  the 
rugged  wilderness  of  Michigan  to  the  hardships  and 
privations  of  pioneer  life.  Yet  a  robust  lad  even 
then  was  I,  and  years  alone  have  proven  the  then 
primal  foundations  to  a  time  and  trouble-tried  phys- 
ique. Ah,  yes,  a  boy  then — with  a  boy's  heart  and 
soul,  entranced  with  the  toil  and  exposures  of  that 
rough  journey  by  wagon  all  the  way  from  our  late 
New  England  home. 

Well  do  I  remember  how  all  day  from  light  till 
dark  I  lived  intent  upon  every  phase  and  new-found 
wonder  of  the  trackless  forest  lining  either  side  of 
the  old  Chicago  road,  shouting  out  in  unsuppressed 
ecstacy  at  a  glimpse  of  the  disappearing  "flag"  of  a 
fleeing  deer—craning  as  we  slowly  moved  along, 
ever  endeavoring  to  catch  sight  of  yon  drum- 
ming partidge  just  back  there  within  the  protective 


64  ONAWAGO 

gloom  of  his  sylvan  haunt  whence  he  sent  his  thun- 
derous mating  challenge  adown  the  silence-wrapped 
woodlands. 

So  as  the  day  was  ever  a  source  of  joy,  so  was 
night  time  a  terror.  I  liked  not  our  hastily  impro- 
vised camps  along  the  roadside,  where  we  cooked 
supper  and  breakfast  and  slept  on  the  ground  under- 
neath the  wagon-bed  on  rainy  nights  and  in  the  open 
air  in  clear  weather.  For  piled  high  with  household 
goods  was  our  cumbrous  vehicle,  impossible  to  un- 
load for  our  temporary  utility  and  convenience. 
Nor  did  I  like  the  strange  night-cries  of  the  dark  and 
lonely  forest  about  us.  And  now  I  know  that  born 
and  bred  and  imbued  into  the  very  uttermost  depths 
of  my  nature  was  that  restless  spirit  of  superstition, 
inherited  most  strongly,  perhaps,  from  father. 

Two  sturdy,  faithful  horses  had  we  on  this  journey 
westward,  two  horses  which  were  my  especial  delight 
to  tend  and  drive,  an  open  wagon,  our  household 
goods,  and  ourselves:  mother,  father,  little  sister 
Mary  and  myself. 

Yet  even  with  this  simple  equipage  we  labored 
from  the  East  with  but  patience-trying  progress, 
amid  break-downs,  wash-outs  and  storms,  anon 
clearing  away  some  gigantic  forest  monarch  struck 


ONAWAGO  65 

by  wind  or  lightning  across  the  road,  and  once  a 
nerve-racking  episode,  when  our  old  horse,  Barney, 
became  suddenly  ill. 

And  thus  at  length  one  humid,  cloud-drooping 
day  of  late  April,  we  neared  the  termination  of  our 
long,  tedious  journey.  As  usual  I  was  driving,  urg- 
ing the  team  onward  with  boyish  impatience,  when 
we  looked  down  upon  a  river  whose  axe-slashed 
valley  denoted  the  sole  signs  of  civilization  we  had 
seen  for  many,  many  weary  miles.  It  was  a  narrow 
valley,  brush-grown  and  overflowed  with  the  spring 
freshet.  A  road  wound  up  the  steep  hillside  beyond 
the  river's  flood  plain.  There  was  no  further  guid- 
ance in  crossing. 

We  halted  on  the  hill  top  and  viewed  the  pros- 
pect, unpromising  as  it  truly  was.  Then  we  drove 
onward,  down  hill  and  to  an  almost  perilous  ford- 
ing, I  willingly  resigned  the  reins  to  father. 

"Wife,"  father  observed,  addressing  mother,  "ye 
recollect  me  speakin'  o'  the  Paw  Paw,  don't  ye  now? 
Wall,  this  here  river  's  her  'n'  no  other.  I'd  know 
her  in  the  dark.  Empties  jest  above  St.  Joe.  Trap- 
ped her  one  fall — les's  see,  must  be  nigh  unto  four- 
teen years  ago.  An'  a  smart  haul  I  made  from  her, 


66  ONAWAGO 

too.  'Twar  my  third  year  in  these  parts,  V  three 
afore  I  quit  'em." 

"Now,  Dave  Bundy,  beware  ruining  my  feathers!" 
admonished  mother,  though  with  a  trace  of  banter 
in  her  tone,  apprehensive  of  her  prized  bedding — 
for  already  we  were  in  the  sluggish  current  of  the 
over-flow  and  following  with  some  difficulty  the 
brush-cleared  track  before  us.  We  gained  in  safety 
the  river's  bank,  evidenced  simply  by  little  narrow, 
serpentine  strips  of  land  projecting  above  the  sur- 
rounding flood.  There  we  paused  a  moment.  Then 
with  a  plunge  the  horses  sprang  forward  and  we 
were  in  the  ford. 

And  I  remember  the  thrill  that  shot  through  me. 
And  I  can  again  see  mother  snuggle  little  Mary  to 
her  bosom.  Foremost  upon  his  knees,  rigid  and 
determined,  father  held  the  faithful  animals  to  their 
course.  And  then  with  a  forward  lunge,  and  we  with 
a  sidewise  movement,  were  floating.  For  a  moment 
we  drifted,  partly  across,  more  directly  downward 
with  the  stream's  course.  Then  the  wheels  grated 
again  upon  gravel.  The  horses  gained  footing,  and 
upon  the  welcome  terra  firma,  landed  us  high  and 
safe.  And  mother  aloud  breathed  her  thankfulness. 

Several  minutes  more  and  the  valley  had  passed 


GNAW  AGO  67 

from  our  sight.  We  had  climbed  the  hill  and  were 
again  upon  the  level,  entering  a  region  of  under- 
growth as  wild  and  desolate  as  that  bordering  the 
river — a  state  of  young  budded  saplings  sprung  up 
from  the  enduring  stumps  of  the  lately  devastated 
hardwood  forest.  Possibly  a  mile  of  this  had  been 
covered,  when  a  single  horseman,  mounted  bare- 
back on  an  ungainly  old  gray  mare,  swept  into  view 
over  a  gradual  rise  of  ground  in  our  front.  With 
reins  held  between  his  teeth,  a  basket  swinging  upon 
one  arm  and  a  strip  of  rawhide  twisted  into  a  crude 
whip  that  curled  and  hissed  in  sweeping  circles  above 
his  head  to  descend  anon  and  deal  a  cutting  blow 
upon  the  flank  of  the  terrorized  animal,  he  rode 
like  some  demon  possessed  of  reckless  deviltry. 

Even  in  my  young  mind  I  liked  not  one  who 
would  carry  a  rawhide.  It  shows  brute  nature  better 
than  a  physiognomy  can  possibly  portray  it.  And 
yet  I  mused,  for  this  youth's  features  were  in  them- 
selves positively  a  contradiction  to  his  behavior. 
Yet  thus  it  ever  proved  in  his  case. 

He  was  a  lad  neighboring  perchance  twelve  years 
in  age,  rather  sparely  built,  yet  sturdy  and  extremely 
lithe.  He  was  clad  comfortably  in  homespun  and 
buckskin.  His  features  were  clean-cut  and  promi- 


68  ONAWAGO 

nent.  His  hair  was  wavy  and  a  soft  chestnut-brown. 
His  eyes  were  blue-gray,  frank  and  laughing.  In 
fine,  he  was  exceptional  for  his  age,  and  in  all,  he 
was  truly  handsome. 

As  he  swerved  from  the  road  in  order  to  pass 
us,  the  basket  tipped  with  a  sudden  careen,  and  a 
puppy,  one  of  a  litter  of  seven,  fell  to  the  ground. 
The  lad  laughed.  The  rawhide  hissed  and  coiled 
like  a  serpent.  A  backward  sweep  and  the  stinging 
lash  struck  the  fallen  puppy.  Its  pitiful  whimper 
smote  my  boyish  heart,  and  even  ere  the  horses  had 
come  to  a  standstill,  I  had  it  in  my  arms  and  held  it 
close.  While  pausing  not  an  instant,  the  youthful 
desperado  dashed  onward  and  was  lost  from  view, 
headed  straight  for  the  ford  on  the  river. 


ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  BOY  ON  THE  HORSE. 

A  SHORT  distance  farther  and  we  crossed  the 
-*•*•  'elevation  over  which  we  had  watched  the 
mount  of  the  violent  youth,  and  there,  almost  to  our 
surprise,  shortly  ahead  lay  a  village.  'Twas  a  rude, 
backwoods  settlement  of  the  late  Forties,  built  upon 
two  intersecting  lumber-roads.  The  round-about 
territory  was  sparsely  settled  as  yet— still  in  its  pioneer 
state,  those  few  scattered  families  constituted  the 
bulk  of  population  for  miles  around  in  that  particular 
section  of  Michigan. 

Dusk  was  gathering  as  we  reached  this  point  and 
viewed  for  the  first  time  "Barterville,"  the  then  pre- 
valent appellation  for  the  village  shortly  ahead. 
Lights  already  were  streaming  and  flickering  from 
the  windows,  shedding  a  wierd,  melancholy  glow 
out  upon  the  evening  solitude.  And  I  remember 
our  conversation  suddenly  ceased,  and  my  own  heart- 
beats and  muffled  breathing — filled  as  I  was  with  the 


70  ONAWAGO 

excitement  of  this,  to  me,  momentous  occasion — 
were  the  only  sounds  audible  to  myself  except  the 
dull,  rythmic  hoof-beats  of  the  horses  on  the  sandy 
road.  Slow  was  our  progress  and  the  sun  had  long 
since  set  and  the  last,  lingering  shades  of  the  after- 
glow cast  an  uncertain  glimmer  over  drowsy  earth 
with  naught  but  the  clouded  heavens  above  retaining 
the  final  suggestion  of  faded  day  as  we  passed  the 
farthermost  of  the  out-lying  clearings,  and  slowly 
entered  the  town. 

We  halted  before  the  tavern,  a  square,  two  storied 
frame  building.  Its  front  was  well  set  with  posts  and 
to  one  of  them  father  was  intending  to  hitch.  Next 
the  tavern  stood  a  long,  rambling,  square-fronted 
affair  with  a  sign  over  the  door:  "THE  VARIETY 
STORE,"  with  just  below  this  in  smaller  lettering: 
"All  Kinds  of  Stuff.  Prunes  and  Cheese.  Post 
Office."  These  words  were  rendered  readable  by 
light  from  the  blacksmith  shop  across  the  road,  whose 
blazing  forge  brightly  illuminated  the  shop's  interior 
and  threw  its  ruddy  glow  about  us  in  a  broad  ex- 
panse of  light  that  leaped  and  danced  with  the  shadows 
of  those  at  work.  The  regular  clang  of  the  sledge- 
hammer upon  the  anvil  rang  out  with  a  loud  and 
hollow  metallic  accent  which  struck  the  broad  fronts 


ONAWAGO  71 

of  the  tavern  and  store  across  the  road  and  rebounded 
to  pronounce  amid-strokes,  its  fainter  volume. 

As  we  halted,  the  proprietor  of  the  Variety  Store 
appeared  in  his  doorway.  With  one  leg  thrust  before 
the  other,  his  hands  shoved  deep  down  into  his 
trousers'  side-pockets  and  leaning  propped  against 
the  door-jam,  his  profile  was  drawn  in  inky  blackness 
againsf  the  yellow  flicker  of  the  candles  within. 

"Strangers,  eh?"  he  inquired  quizzically  of  father. 
"Coin' t'  settle  hereabouts?  Clost  on  the  lake,  eh? 
Wall,  thet  air  am  good  land,  far's  I  know.  Kinder 
wild  yit  though.  Better  git  nearer'n  thet 't  town,  I'd 
reckon.  Lot's  o'  likely  land  nearer'n  thet  o'  yourn." 

"Guess  it'll  suit  my  likin',  thet  I  got,"  replied 
father.  "Tom  Arnold's  thar,  'n' what's  good  enough 
fer  him's  good  enough  fer  me  too." 

"Tom  Arnold,  eh?  Likable  sort  o'  man.  So 
yer  goin'  t'  neighbor  with  him,  eh?  Perty  fur,  way 
up  thar  though.  Good  five  mile  from  here.  Long 
ways  offm  everybody  else.  But  if  y*  like  thet  way 
o'  doin',  I  reckon  it's  all  well'n'  good.  Goin'  t' 
spend  the  night  wi'  Si  in  thar?" 

He  indicated  the  tavern  with  a  toss  of  the  head, 
but  was  interrupted  from  further  inquiry  by  the  loud 
galloping  of  a  horse.  A  second  later  our  formerly 


72  GNAW  AGO 

encountered  horseman  dashed  through  the  flare  from 
the  blacksmith's  forge.  Instantly  a  head  popped  out 
the  tavern's  front  window  which  I  had  noticed  was 
standing  propped  open. 

"Hi,  there,  you!"  shouted  the  head.  "Bring  back 
that  mare  er  I'll  break  yer  bloody  back!" 

The  lad  on  the  old  gray  mare  cast  a  supercilious 
laugh  back  over  his  shoulder  and  flung  in  answer  a 
sing-song  with  high  nasal  twang:  "Break  it  now,  you 
old  Jaw-bone;  break  it  naow!" 

The  head  muttered  an  unintelligible  oath  and 
vanised. 

Yet  one  thing  I  had  noticed;  the  lad  had  neither 
basket  nor  puppies,  nor  raw-hide.  We  could  still 
hear  his  taunting  laugh  far  up  the  road. 

A  moment  later  the  possessor  of  the  head  ap- 
peared at  the  tavern  door.  It  was  the  landlord. 
"Supper  for  four,  wife!"  he  shouted  back  into  the 
house,  then  came  bustling  over  to  us,  welcoming  us 
cordially  to  his  hospitable  board. 

"Clean  from  York  State.  Well,  I'm  switched! 
Come  right  in,  come  right  in.  Make  yourselves 
comfortable.  You're  right  to  home  now,  I  want  it 
understood— right  to  home.  Nobody  but  Sal  'n'  me; 


ONAWAGO  73 

nobody  but  just  us  two.  We'll  have  supper  in  just  a 
moment,  just  a  moment.  Excuse  me— thank  you, 
I'll  go  see!" 

He  disappeared  to  consult  his  goodly  wife.  Im- 
mediately the  horse's  galloping  sounded  again  down 
the  road,  approaching.  A  moment  more  and  the 
old  gray  mare  slackened  pace  close  alongside  us. 

"Who  you  folks  lookin'  fer?"  brusquely  inquired 
the  boy.  "Tom  Arnold's  place?5 

"What  about  him?"  queried  father. 

"I'm  bound  there  right  now,"  answered  the  boy. 
"If  you'd  like  t'  get  there  with  somebody  t'  show  you 
how,  I'm  yours  without  askin'.  Come  on,  if  you're 
goin'." 

"Wall,"  added  father,  pensively  scratching  his 
head,  "hadn't  thought  o'  goin'  up  thar  till  mornin'. 
It's  a  mighty  black  night.  'N'  it'  a  big  two  hours 
drive  from  here,  V  nothin'  but  woods  the  whole 
way  thar.  Nope.  Guess  we  hadn't  best  go  till 
mornin.'  Thankee,  all  the  same.*' 

"Aw,  yer  scared  out,  yer  scared  out!  Hain't 
nothin'  goin' t'  hurt  you.  The  dark  can't  bite.  Come 
on,  I'll  drive.  I  know  the  road.  I'll  see  you  there 
safe  enough." 

"Better  not  let  Si  see  yer  hangin'  eroun'  here," 


74  ONAWAGO 

called  the  store-keeper  to  the  boy.  "He'll  gi'  y'  the 
whalin'  ye  desarve  ef  he  gits  hands  on  yu'." 

The  boy  paid  him  no  attention  outside  a  scornful 
curl  of  the  lip,  but  satJon  his  horse  stolid  and  sullen; 
then  he  resumed  his  attempt  at  persuading  us  to 
proceed. 

"This  old  nag  belongs  t'  old  Jaw-bone  here.  I 
sneaked  her  this  afternoon.  I'm  through  with  her 
now.  If  I  don't  get  a  ride  home,  I've  got  t'  walk. 
Come  on,  'tain't  no  sense  stayin'  here.  Tom's  been 
lookin*  fer  you  every  day  for  a  month.  Come  on, 
he's  dead  anxious  to  see  you.  Come  on,  nothin's 
interferin',  come  on." 

"What'd  y'u  do  wi'  them  thar  pups,  scamp?" 
came  from  the  store.  "Bet  a  coon-skin  ye  stole  'em 
somewhare,  thet  I'll  bet." 

Mother  and  little  Mary  had  entered  the  tavern. 
Yet  anxious  as  we  were  for  supper,  father  and  I  still 
lingered  outside,  debating  with  this  strange  lad.  But 
suddenly  the  landlord's  portly  figure  appeared  once 
more  in  the  lighted  doorway.  Instantly  the  old  gray 
mare  whirled  about,  plunged  forward  and  her  hoofs 
clattered  up  the  road. 


ONAWAGO  75 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  DRIVE  TO  ARNOLD'S. 

night  without  was  black  when,  supper  finished, 
I  attended  to  the  team,  stabling  them  in  a  rude 
shed  behind  the  tavern.  I  had  fed  and  was  busy 
bedding  them  down  when  I  felt,  rathern  than  noticed, 
someone  slip  from  out  the  darkness  and  lay  a  hand 
lightly  upon  my  shoulder,  standing  close  beside  me. 
"It's  only  me,  kid,"  he  whispered.  "Don't  be 
scared.  Let  that  work  go  for  a  minute  an'  listen. 
Go  in  an'  coax  that  dad  o'  yourn  to  go  on  to  Tom's 
tonight.  They  hain't  nothin'  t'  be  afeard  of.  I'll 
drive  an'  I  know  the  road  same  by  dark  as  by  day- 
time. I  just  now  stuck  the  old  mare  back  in  the  yard 
there  where  old  Jaw-bone'll  be  likely  to  find  her  in 
the  mornin'.  So  now  you  just  go  on  in  an'  coax 
your  old  man  to  come  on  an'  go  'long  to  Tom's. 
Tom's  dyin'  t'  see  him.  Tell  him  that,  too.  We 
can  get  there  in  an  hour  or  so.  Gosh,  they  ain't  nothin' 
to  stay  here  for!  Tell  him  we  might  as  well  move 
along  an'  git  there  and  have  yer  long  drive  over  with. 


76  ONAWAGO 

Will  y'  do  it,  kid?— go  in  an'  coax  him?  But  don't 
ye  dare  to  let  old  Jaw-bone  hear  ye  say  that  I'm  out 
here." 

I  straightway  went  indoors,  slipped  around  -to 
father's  chair  where  he  tilted  back  against  the  wall, 
conversing  with  our  jovial  host,  and  in  an  undertone, 
delivered  the  boy's  message. 

"Wall,  guess  we  may'z  well  move  'long,  landlord," 
spoke  father.  'The  lad  here's  coaxin'  t'  go.  It's 
nigh  to  eight  year  since  Tom  'n'  me  ha'  saw  each 
other  an'  ye  may  be  bettin'  ez  how  I'm  dead  anxious 
fer  t'  see  him,  an'  him  me,  I  s'pose.  Sorry  not  t'  put 
up  wi'  ye  the  night,  but  the  fact  is,  I'm  in  a  turrible 
flurry  t'  git  t'  Tom's  an*  have  this  long  trip  done.  I 
jest  can't  content  myself  t'  wait  till  mornin',  landlord. 
Dave,  ye  can  go  hitch  up,  lad." 

Shortly  we  were  upon  the  road  once  more.  The 
night  was  utter  black  as  we  passed  out  the  village — 
so  black  that  with  difficulty  we  found  the  tote-road 
that  branched  off  to  the  right  toward  Arnold's.  Ab- 
solute silence  brooded  on  every  hand.  The  regular 
thuds  of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  the  dull,  sullen  rumble 
of  the  wagon  only  tended  to  add  melancholy  to  this 
black  silence  about  us— this  unearthly,  oppressive 
silencelthat  dampened  our  spirits  like  a  pall.  On 


ONAWAGO  77 

either  side  of  us  stretched  uncut  wilderness;  towering 
hardwoods  loomed  up  beside  us  in  shadowy  silhou- 
ette against  the  clouded  sky.  No  wind  stirred.  A 
fine  mist  in  the  air  wafted  chill  against  our  faces 
until  we  shivered  with  its  uncanny  dampness. 

I  drove,  seated  in  front,  father,  mother  and  little 
Mary  farther  arear,  perched  high  upon  our  bulky 
load.  I  drove — in  that  our  prospective  guide  had 
failed  to  materialize  at  the  wanted  time.  We  were 
concerned.  Positively  we  could  never  find  our  way 
through  this  black  night  without  his  guidance.  Al- 
ready we  had  covered  some  goodly  distance.  Would 
he  yet  appear? — or,  had  he  played  another  of  his 
sundry  pranks? 

Suddenly  a  deep,  gruff  voice  spoke  from  out  the 
dark,  requesting  a  ride.  I  reined  in  the  horses. 
Could  there  be  a  lonely  pedestrian  such  a  night  upon 
a  wilderness  road  like  this? 

A  dim  figure  lurched  up  over  the  wheel — a  figure 
that  I  recognized  as  that  of  the  lad  on  the  old  gray 
mare.  He  laughed  softly  as  he  found  a  seat  at  my 
side. 

"Fooled  yu',  didn't  I  nqw,  with  that  voice  I  put 
on?  Thought  I  wa'n't  goin*  t'  drive  after  all^  now, 
didn't  yu',  kid?  An'  I'll  warrant  ye  felt  mighty 


78  ONAWAGO 

squeamish  too,  didn't  yu'?  Yu'd  a  never  found  the 
place  without  me,  though,  that's  sure.  Here,  give 
me  them  lines.  I'm  driver  here." 

I  hesitated.  "Reckon  I'll  drive  my  own  self,"  I 
answered  sulkily. 

"An*  I  reckon  you  jest  won't!"  he  asservated 
sharply.  "I'll  have  yu'  to  know  that  I'm  driver  o' 
this  here  shebang!  Give  them  lines  here.  D'yn' 
hear  me?  Hand  'em  over,  I  say!" 

Someway  I  courted  antagonism  with  this  lad — 
had  rebelled  against  his  influence  secretly  from  the 
first.  My  very  innermost  spirit  clashed  against  his. 

I  doggedly  retained  the  reins. 

"Give  yu'  jest  three  to  hand  'em  over.  One — 
two-THREE!" 

He  snatched  at  them.  I  jerked  them  out  of  his 
reach.  In  return  he  swung  a  resounding  slap  with 
the  flat  of  his  hand  across  my  mouth.  My  blood 
fairly  boiled.  Drawing  back  deliberately  with  my 
utmost  strength  I  struck  him  just  above  the  ear  a  blow 
that  reeled  him  almost  off  the  load.  But  instantly 
he  was  back  at  me.  Reaching  over,  he  wrapped  his 
long,  sinewy  arms  about  me,  pinning  mine  at  my 
side.  Then  raising  himself,  he  swung  me  in  the  act 


ONAWAGO  79 

of  flinging  me  headlong  to  the  ground,  when  father's 
voice  and  hand  arrested  him. 

"Ye  imp!  I'll  sling  ye  clare  t' Don't  ye  dare 

make  another  move,  ye  varlet.  Put  the  boy  back 
there  to  his  seat.  Dave,  I  say,  let  him  drive.  He 
knows  the  road." 

Thence  we  rode  in  silence,  laboriously  bumping 
along  through  the  endless  waterholes  and  ruts  of  that 
rough,  lumbering  road,  the  wagon  jostling  and  careen- 
ing wildly  from  side  to  side.  The  time  dragged 
tediously  along  and  it  was  perhaps  an  hour  or  so 
later  that  the  feeble  flicker  of  a  light  from  a  small 
window  far  on  ahead,  streamed  down  the  open  cut 
of  the  roadway. 

"That  there's  Tom's,"  causlly  remarked  the  boy. 
"Mighty  glad  we're  here."  Then  after  several 
minutes:  "How  old  areyu',  kid?" 

"Nine,"  I  answered. 

"So's  Martha,"  he  snapped,  conclusively. 

"Who's  Martha?"  I  queried. 

"None  of  yer  business.  She's  only  a  gal.  Now 
d'yu  know?" 

"Then  what's  your  age?"  I  returned. 

"Hain't  got  no  sure  age,  I  guess." 

"Then  when's  your  birthday?" 


80  ONAWAGO 

"Never  had  none." 

"Where  do  you  live?"  I  persisted. 

"No  place." 

"Aw,  go  on,"  I  blurted  out.     "You're  only  lyin'." 

"Don't  yu'  call  me  no  liar,  kid,  don't  yu'  dare!  I 
tell  yu'  that  I  don't  live  no  place  fer  long,  an'  it's  the 
truth.  Sometimes  I  stay  with  Tom,  sometimes  not. 
Jest  as  I  please  to." 

"Well,  then,  who's  Martha— Martha  who's  my 
age?"  I  enjoined. 

"Oh,  she's  nobody  but  Tom's  gal — his  only  gal  yu' 
know.  She's  some  sort  o'  way  my  sister;  but  I'm  not 
her  brother,  I  don't  figure.  But  what's  the  difference 
t'  yu',  kid,  who  she  is?" 

"What's  your  name,"  I  replied,  disdaining  his  retort 

"That  ain't  got  nothin'  t'  do  with  you.  Tain't 
none  o'  yer  business,  neither.  'Tain't  no  name  to 
brag  on." 

"What's  your  name,  boy?"  demanded  father 
sternly. 

The  boy  sulked  a  moment,  then  blurted  out 
savagely: 

"Hope  yu'll  all  be  satisfied  when  I  tell  yu'  what  it 
is.  Must  want  t'  know  mighty  hard.  Now  d'yu 
know?  It's  BRUCE  LONG." 


ONAWAGO  81 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  EVENING  AT  ARNOLD'S. 

T>  RUCE  Long  helped  me  in  caring  for  the  horses. 
-*-*  Then  with  them  comfortable  in  the  barn,  to- 
gether we  proceeded  to  the  house.  But  even  as  I  laid 
my  hand  upon  the  door-latch,  I  suddenly  missed  him 
from  my  side.  Where  could  he  have  gone  so  sud- 
denly, so  silently,  so  mysteriously  as  to  be  thus  swal- 
lowed up,  as  it  were,  in  the  blackness  of  the  night? 

I  called,  but  there  came  no  answer.  For  some 
moments  I  waited,  surprised  and  wondering,  upon 
the  door-step;  then  raised  the  latch-string  and  entered 
the  house.  I  "disposed  of  my  heavy  outer  wraps, 
then  quitely  joined  the  others  in  the  large  living-room, 
which  was  ablaze  with  mellow  light  from  the  great 
open-mouted  fire-place.  One  solitary  candle  fluttered 
its  yellow  flame  from  the  eating-table  over  in  one 
corner  where  mother,  with  Mary  on  her  lap,  sat 
chatting  with  Mrs.  Arnold.  Father  and  Tom  were 
already  engaged  in  retrospective  conversation,  their 


82  ONAWAGO 

hilarious  enthusiasm  over  being  re-united  after  eight 
years  separation  still  at  full  blast. 

I  looked  about  for  Martha,  she  whom  Bruce  had 
referred  to  as  "Tom's  only  gal/'  Upon  our  arrival 
I  had  been  formally  presented  to  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Arnold,  but  I  had  failed  to  notice  anyone  of  my  age 
or  thereabouts. 

Nobody  seemed  to  note  Bruce  Long's  absence. 
Therefore  I  made  no  mention  of  it,  but  quietly  seated 
myself  upon  the  settee  near  the  chimney-place,  and 
sat  listening  to  father  and  Tom's  discourse  as  they  sat 
before  the  hearth,  reclining  leisurely  back  in  their 
easy  chairs  and  rocking  measuredly  to  and  fro,  the 
firelight  before  them  spreading  enormous  features 
and  outlines  upon  the  shadowy  background  of  the 
large  room  where  along  the  walls,  fantastic  gestures 
mimicked  in  frolic  their  natural  likenesses. 

"An5  Moccasin,  Tom?  Does  he  yit  hang  t'  the 
place?" 

"Aye,  Bundy,  he  does,  and  with  grit  like  that  of  a 
wolverine.  He  still  lives  in  the  hut  you  two  built 
over  across  there  at  the  south  end  of  the  lake.  You 
see  this  house  stands  shortly  back  in  the  woods  from 
the  spot  where  we  found  Bruce  that  night,  and  if,  as 
you  say,  you  have  two  quarters,  then  you  certainly 


ONAWAGO  83 

have  the  land  on  which  the  red-skin  resides.  Glad 
will  he  be  when  he  sees  you  once  more  for  he  speaks 
of  you  often  and  always  as  "Brother." 

"An'  the  boy'*?  queried  father. 

"Runs  wild  as  a  famished  wolf.  Where  he  spends 
his  time  I  am  unable  to  learn,  for  though  I've  tried 
my  best  to  follow  him,  he  always  seems  to  know  it 
and  somehow  manages  to  throw  me  off  his  track. 
He  outwits  me  at  every  turn. 

Seldom  is  he  at  home,  and  where  he  gets  his 
meals  puzzles  me.  I  have  done  all  in  my  power  for 
him.  There  is  but  one  stone  left  unturned,  and 
that  is  to  send  him  to  Uncle  William  (perhaps  you 
recollect  seeing  him  at  my  place  back  East  sometime 
or  other)  an  old,  wealthy  merchant,  lately  retired, 
in  the  Big  City.  When  here  last  summer  he  took 
decided  fancy  to  the  boy,  probably  because  of  his 
strange  history  and  his  peculiar  personality,  for 
young  as  he  is,  he  strikes  me  as  exceptional.  And 
strange  though  it  seemed,  Bruce  also  took  a  singular 
liking  to  the  old  gentleman,  for  while  Uncle  was 
here,  the  lad  ceased  his  deviltry  and  was  ever  at  the 
old  man's  side.  And  now  Uncle  wants  to  take  him 
and  school  him.  It's  the  best  thing  for  the  boy  and 
the  best  thing  for  us  all,  so  I've  decided  to  compel 


84  ONAWAGO 

the  boy  to  go,  whether  willingly  or  unwillingly,  it 
matters  not  which,  he'll  have  to  go  in  season  for 
next  Fall's  term." 

'Twas  here  I  noticed  Mrs.  Arnold  turn  in  her 
chair. 

"Go  back,  pet,  and  dress  and  then  come  down." 
I  turned  quickly  in  the  direction  she  had  addressed, 
just  in  time  to  see  a  little  white-robed  figure 
vanish  into  the  gloom  of  the  stairway.  Ah,  that  was 
Martha,  then!  She  was  here  after  all.  My  heart 
began  to  pound  rebelliously  high  in  my  chest,  almost 
suffocatingly  in  my  excitement — excitement  from  I 
knew  not  what. 

"An*  how  ha'  ye  done  here  i'  the  woods,  Tom?" 
"Pretty  tough  all  around,  Bundy.  Things  have 
gone  against  me.  Deer  destroy  considerable  of  my 
grain  every  year.  Scarce  a  fowl  can  I  keep  on  the 
place  on  account  of  vermin.  I  lost  my  best  horse 
before  I'd  been  here  six  months.  The  shingle- 
diggin's'  at  Barterville  have  been  overstocked  all  the 
time  so's  I  couldn't  dispose  of  my  timber.  And  if  I 
turn  my  hogs  on  the  acorns  and  let  them  run,  some 
of  'em  will  come  up  missing  every  time  because  of 
wolves  and  cats  and  bears.  I've  had  hard  fightin', 
Bundy,  to  keep  things  movin'." 


ONAWAGO  85 

"A  good  log  house  is  this,  good-sized  and  warm, 
three  rooms  below  and  two  above.  A  good  deal  of 
land  I've  cleared,  but  I've  burned  most  all  the  trees 
and  what  I've  saved, — the  logs  are  simply  rotting  on 
the  place.  And  it's  been  mighty  lonesome  for  Sallie 
but  nary  a  word  has  she  said  one  way  or  the  other, 
though  everything  seems  to  want  to  go  against  us 
more  or  less;  and  yet  we've  managed  to  keepexistin' 
away  out  here  in  this  dreary  old  wilderness  all  alone, 
a-waiting  and  a-praying  for  someone  to  turn  up  as  a 
neighbor,  and  above  all  in  the  world,  waiting  and 
praying  for  you.  And  now  that  you're  here,  I'm 
going  to  start  in  with  new  spirit.  There's  enough 
logs  already  down  here  on  my  place  to  build  your 
house  and  until  we  get  it  finished,  you  can  live  with 
us,  and  welcome." 

Intuitively  I  became  aware  of  a  presence  at  my 
side.  My  heart  fluttered  wildly  as  I  turned  to  look 
and  to  find  that  Martha,  now  dressed,  had  slipped 
silently  into  the  room,  and,  without  attracting  my 
attention,  had  seated  herself  upon  the  opposite  end 
of  my  settee,  gazing  at  me  with  shy,  wondering  blue 
eyes  that  dropped  coyly  before  my  own  astonished 
stare. 


86  ONAWAGO 

"Are  you  the  little  boy  who's  come  to  live  with 
us  here  in  the  woods?"  she  asked  softly. 

"And  are  you  Martha?"  I  stammered  in  a 
whisper. 

"And  isn't  your  name  David?  Mamma  said  it 
was.  David  was  an  awful,  awful  good,  brave  boy. 
He's  in  the  Bible,  you  know.  I  s'pose  you're  just 
like  him  or  you  wouldn't  have  his  name,  would  you? 
He  slayed  Goliath  with  a  pebble  and  a  string  and 
then  was  king,  the  Bible  says.  Can  you  slay  folks 
with  a  pebble  and  a  string? 

But  listen!  Papa's  telling  a  story— a  queer  story. 
Did  you  ever  hear  it  before?  I  think  it  is  almost  as 
good  as  the  David  and  Goliath  one." 

Tom  was  telling  the  story  of  The  Cry — recounting 
his  strange  and  mysterious  experience  of  that  Novem- 
ber night.  The  story  has  already  been  told  in  these 
pages,  but  to  me  as  a  child,  it  ever  contained  a 
fascinating  and  bewildering  import  that  set  my  young 
mind,  upon  every  recital,  to  wondering  upon  the 
strangeness  of  it  all. 

The  story  finished  as  it  had  been  finished  many, 
many  times — though  somehow  it  seemed  ever  new — 
the  conversation  thenceforth  lagged.  The  fire 
burned  lower  and  lower,  unreplenished,  and  silence 


ONAWAGO  87 

reigned  over  the  household.  Little  Martha's  eye-lids 
were  heavy  and  drooping,  but  for  myself,  I  remained 
wide  awake,  for  I  was  preternaturally  of  a  nervous 
temperament  and  the  unbroken  silence  of  the  room 
grated  upon  me.  The  others  sat  staring  dreamily 
into  the  glaring  embers.  Only  the  gusts  outside 
howled  and  shrieked,  increasing  steadily  in  violence 
as  the  late  hours  approached.  And  in  this  continued 
breathless  quietude,  we  dispersed  for  the  night. 

In  the  low-ceilinged,  dimly-lighted  bed-room  to 
which  I  was  conducted,  I  lay  for  a  long  time,  my  mind 
wandering  over  the  day's  manifold  events;  our  peril 
at  the  ford;  the  singular  maneuvers  of  that  strange 
youth,  Bruce  Long;  his  purpose  with  those  puppies 
(mine  even  now  slept  upon  the  foot  of  my  bed);  his 
daring  in  openly  stealing  the  landlord's  mare  for  the 
afternoon;  our  long  ride  through  the  dark  to  Arnold's 
and  lastly  Bruce's  mysterious  disappearance  after 
helping  me  with  the  horses.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
narration  concerning  the  horrid  cry  which  had  arisen 
one  starry  night  ten  long  years  ago  in  this  very  forest 
around  the  lake.  Ah,  I  would  see  this  lake  in  the 
morning — this  lake  I  had  heard  so  much  about! 
Thence  my  mind  strayed  to  little  Martha,  for  already 
it  seemed,  I  loved  her  with  my  boyish  heart.  And 


88  ONAWAGO 

what  is  more  sacred  than  the  love  of  childhood? 
Then  slowly  things  confused  themselves;  nothing 
seemed  real,  and  I  gradually  dropped  to  sleep. 

I  awoke  with  a  start.  Someone  was  choking  me. 
Bending  over  me  I  could  just  distinguish  the  outlined 
figure  of  what  I  took  to  be  an  undersized  man.  I 
started  to  cry  out,  but  his  fingers  pressed  my  throat, 
shutting  off  my  breath.  A  low,  barely  audible 
whisper:  "If  yu'  make  a  sound,  I'll  strangle  yu,'  kid!" 
— and  I  recognized  Bruce  Long's  voice.  It  frightened 
me,  for  I  knew  his  threat  was  law;  so  I  gave  him  no 
resistance  as  he  took  me  in  his  strong,  young  arms 
and  surreptitiously  slipped  from  the  house  into  the 
black,  inclement  night  without. 

But  meanwhile,  I  had  seized  my  puppy  in  my 
arms  and  borne  him  with  me.  And  he,  nestling 
close,  vented  not  a  whimper. 

Then  something  wet  and  warm  trickled  down 
over  my  fingers,  and  feeling  I  found  whence  it  came. 

As  I  slept,  my  puppy's  ears  had  been  cropped! 


ONAWAGO  89 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  PROPHECY. 

cold  night  wind  howled  about  us  as  I  fol- 
lowed,  led  I  knew  not  whither;  simply  followed, 
bewildered,  over-awed,  choking  back  my  fright  and 
endeavoring  to  heed  not  this  black  darkness  which 
seemed  to  close  in  upon  us  with  tangible  weight  as 
though  in  order  to  proceed,  we  must  reach  forth  and 
seize  it  and  force  it  from  before  us.  Bruce's  arm 
embraced  me,  clutched  about  me  with  no  gentle 
pressure  as  he  literally  dragged  me  along  at  his  rapid 
gait;  while  my  arms  in  turn  hugged  closely  my  puppy 
to  my  bosom. 

I  have  no  trace  of  time  or  the  length  of  our 
journey.  But  finally,  after  a  seeming  age  to  me,  we 
struck  into  a  thicket  so  dense  that  to  penetrate  it,  we 
were  obliged  to  tear  our  way.  At  length  in  this  en- 
tanglement of  vegetation,  Bruce  stopped;  and  I, 
reaching  forth  a  hand  in  the  black  darkness,  came  in 
contact  with  the  cold,  clammy  side  of  a  damp  and 
decaying  log.  With  a  shudder  I  drew  away  from  its 
grewsomeness,  tightening  my  convulsive  grasp  upon 


90  ONAWAGO 

my  puppy  and  with  anguished  sufferance,  awaiting 
Bruce  Long's  pleasure. 

I  supposed  him  pausing  to  regain  his  breath  and 
I,  in  turn,  panted  heavily,  chokingly  at  his  side. 
Then  while  we  paused,  suddenly  I  discerned  that  he 
trembled — surely  not  with  cold  for  we  had  been 
walking  with  utmost  speed.  For  quite  a  space  he 
thus  hestitated  as  though  in  doubt  whether  to  proceed 
or  turn  back  until  at  length  he  shrugged  as  though  to 
be  liberated  from  some  undesired  and  overpowering 
influence,  and  stepping  resolutely  forward,  touched 
a  low  door  that  creakingly  swung  slowly  open.  A 
peculiar  glimmer  of  uncertain  light  fell  about  us;  and 
following  the  example  of  my  abductor,  I  stepped 
forward  into  a  dusky  enclosure,  the  door  closing 
automatically  behind  me. 

Before  us  a  few  smouldering  coals  glowed  in  the 
center  of  an  earthen  floor,  shedding  a  weired,  semi- 
obscurity  about  the  place.  The  place  itself  was  a 
square-built,  bark  wigwam,  without  a  single  article  of 
furniture  or  a  utensil — naught  but  bare,  earthen  floor 
and  the  warped  and  mouldering  bark  of  the  walls. 

Intense,  unearthly  silence  prevailed.  Not  a  sound 
save  the  dull  moaning  of  the  night-wind  without  and 
the  tumultuous  throbbing  of  my  own  heart,  broke 


ONAWAGO  91 

this  unearthly  silence  which  hung  death-like  about 
the  place  like  the  peculiar,  stifling,  atmosphere  of  a 
tomb.  While  strangely,  this  stifling,  haunted  atmos- 
phere smote  my  heart  with  a  vague,  though  dread 
intuition  of  human  occupancy,  my  eyed  roved  rest- 
lessly about  the  place  until  at  length  I  began  believing 
it  surely  tenantless  after  all,  when  chancing  to  glance 
furtively  by  way  of  inquiry  at  my  midnight  abductor, 
I  found  his  eyes  resting  upon  the  corner  close  behind 
me.  Involuntarily  I  drew  back,  and  turning,  stood 
as  petrified,  transfixed  with  an  unwholesome,  hyster- 
ical oppression  at  my  heart. 

At  first  I  could  discern  nothing  further  than  two 
eyes — two  eyes  which  were  fixed  upon  mine  with  a 
virulent  glare  and  burning  as  I  have  seen  the  eyes  of 
felines  shine  in  the  dark.  Then  slowly  my  sight  be- 
came accustomed  to  the  gloom,  and  I  described  the 
lineaments  of  a  muffled  figure  crouched  in  the  corner 
close  before  me,  its  dusky  outlines  lost  in  the  accom- 
panying shadow.  One  naked  arm  reclined  across 
its  black  garment.  Coarse  black  hair  draggled  down 
upon  it,  hanging  loosely  from  about  the  shoulders 
and  enclosing  a  dark,  menacing  countenance  from 
which  glowered  those  penetrating,  pather-like  eyes. 

Strange  loathing  incensed   me.     And  I  shrank 


92  ONAWAGO 

back  horrified,  my  heart  seeming  to  flutter  in  vacuum. 
And  I  gazed  with  undisguised  adhorrence  into  those 
eyes — my  God,  those  eyes;  I  can  see  them  yet — which 
glowered  still  into  mine. 

Bruce,  meantime,  had  released  his  encircling  arm. 
And  now,  as  I  stood  there,  he  strode  forward  to  the 
fire,  his  tall,  boyish  figure  outlined  against  the  ruddy 
glow  of  the  coals  as  he  bent  above  them.  He  stirred 
them,  raked  them  closer  together  with  a  small  stick 
which  he  carried.  Then  he  broke  the  stick  in  twain 
and  threw  the  pieces  upon  the  embers.  Then  he 
turned  and  faced  me. 

"Kid,"  he  spoke,  "d'yu  know  that  you've  come 
to  learn  yerfate?" 

As  he  spoke  the  crouched  figure  in  the  corner 
began  to  rock  slowly  backward  and  forward,  croon- 
ing a  kind  of  wordless  song.  Then  suddenly,  noise- 
lessly, she  was  on  her  feet.  Moving  rapidly,  she 
circled  half  around  the  fire  and  faced  me  from  be- 
yond. And  I,  fearful,  cowed  before  those  wildly 
lighted  eyes,  and  slinking  backward  into  the  corner 
—the  corner  she  had  vacated,  crouched  into  it.  But 
in  crouching,  something  I  felt  behind  me,  and  reach- 
ing thereto,  I  brought  forth  and  threw  from  me  into 


ONAWAGO  93 

the  center  of  the  floor  an  odd  sort  of  gun,  a  flint-lock 
musket  with  a  ten-inch  barrel. 

A  tiny  blaze  had  meanwhile  sprung  up,  emitting 
a  sort  of  wierd  and  indistinct  glow  about  the  place 
that  heightened  the  shadows  and  flashing  upward  into 
the  face  of  Onawago,  strongly  multiplied  the  hide- 
ousness  of  her  aspect.  She  stood  in  a  wild  attitude, 
bending  slightly  forward.  Her  arms  were  out- 
stretched, the  fingers  parted  as  if  sifting  the  fumes  of 
the  fire.  Her  long  black  garb  fell  to  earth  like  the 
black  shroud  of  some  infernal  habitant,  coiling  close- 
ly about  her  shapeless  figure;  and  the  firelight  play- 
ing upon  its  many  folds,  added  deeper  shadows  to 
its  blackness.  Evidently  she  was  approaching  great 
age.  Deep  wrinkles  crossed  and  recrossed  her  face. 
A  few  gray  hairs  glistened  silvery  among  the  jet. 
Her  cheeks  were  slightly  sunken  from  missing  teeth, 
and  in  all  there  was  something  remarkably  repulsive, 
remarkably  abhorrent  about  her — about  her  leering 
poise,  about  her  uncouth  visage,  about  those  glower- 
ing, feline  eyes. 

The  two  sticks  still  burned. 

Bruce,  meantime,  had  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
trousers  pockets  and  had  brought  therefrom  some- 
thing which  he  now  was  dropping  one  by  one  meas- 


94  ONAWAGO 

uredly  upon  the  enlivened  embers  of  the  fire.  And 
I  saw  each  one  as  it  fell,  flare  instantly  into  a  vanish- 
ing flame;  and  I  watched  them  one  by  one,  curl  and 
crumple  together,  simmer  strangely,  then  char. 

They  were  pup  ears! 

And  he  counted  hesitantly  as  they  fell,  and  the 
last  one  numbered  fourteen. 

My  face  I  buried  in  my  hands,  childlike,  and  in 
my  fright  gave  way  to  sobbing.  I  listened,  too,  yet 
heeded  not  nor  comprehended  aught  of,  the  contin- 
uance of  her  medicine-incantation.  Only  once,  out 
of  sheer  juvenile  curiosity,  I  peered  through  parted 
fingers  at  her,  and  the  picture  of  it  all— that  tableau 
in  all  its  horror — lies  indelible  upon  my  memory. 

All  before  me  seemed  to  recede  into  far  distance 
and  there  became  an  unhallowed  phantasmagoria. 
In  a  setting  of  opaque  background,  Onawago  posed 
in  wild  attitude.  The  slanting  beams  of  fire  at  her 
feet  flared  about  her  an  indistinct  radiance  which 
tawned  her  skin  and  wrapped  her  swarthy  body  in 
an  unholy  halo — for  a  striking  transformation  in  her 
appearance  had  taken  place.  He  black  garb  had 
suddenly  been  cast  aside.  She  now  stood  forth 
unclad,  her  spare  body  decked  in  all  the  hideous 
splendor  of  her  medicine  raiment— aglitter  with  gew- 


ONAWAGO  95 

gaws,  aflare  with  banded  feathers  and  aglow  with 
barbarous  characters  in  brilliant  paint  in  the  custom 
of  her  race.  She  stood  rigid  and  motionless  save 
for  a  slight  movement  of  her  parted  lips,  bending 
backward,  her  face  tilted  upward  with  eyes  closed, 
and  her  long  strands  of  loose  hair  falling  straight 
downward  almost  to  earth.  Her  long,  emaciated 
arms  were  extended  outward  and  upward  as  though 
invoking  aid  from  some  nether  region.  A  heavy, 
dark  fur,  draped  backward  from  her  shoulders, 
caught  in  fastening  about  the  throat  by  a  necklace  of 
iridescent  sea  shells  that  contrasted  markedly  their 
pale  lustre  with  the  swarthy  olive-hue  of  her  skin. 
Beneath  them,  sunken  low  between  her  drooping 
and  shrunken  breasts,  lighted  to  life-like  ferocity  by 
the  flickering  flare  of  the  coals,  gleamed  a  minature 
inscription — a  human  eye,  black,  glittering  and  fever- 
ishly blood-shot. 

My  face  sank  in  my  palms.  I  leaned  forward, 
clutching  spasmodically  my  puppy,  my  sobs  dying 
away,  for  in  the  air  close  about  me,  a  low  voice, 
strangely  familiar,  spoke  tremulously  that  which  to 
me  sounded  like  a  judgment  from  the  dead: 

"Mighty,  Marvelous,  Mystic,  Magic,  Bloody, 
Wierd,  Peculiar,  Tragic!" 


96  ONAWAGO 

.  Toward  the  last  his  voice  had  died  to  a  whisper. 
Then  suddenly  I  was  snatched  into  his  strong,  wiry 
arms  and  hurriedly  borne  away  into  the  blackness  of 
the  night. 


END  OF  BOOK  II. 


BOOK  III 


BRUCE  LONG 


ONAWAGO  99 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  TRACK  THAT  LIES  IN  THE  FOREST. 


'T^HE  sickled  disk  of  a  crescent  moon  swung  in  the 
-•-  western  heavens.  It's  pale  beams  stretched 
slantwise  upon  the  waters  round  us,  transforming 
their  tranquil  sheen  to  a  plane  of  burnished  silver, 
imbedded  by  the  dark  and  silent  forest.  'Twas  a 
night,  balmy  and  breathless,  of  early  October,  1858; 
and  the  infinite  magnificence  of  its  autumnal  glory 
calmed  our  hearts  as  were  the  waters  calm  upon 
which  we  floated.  Not  a  whisper  of  air  fanned  a 
blemish  upon  the  silent  lake  nor  shook  a  leaf  of  the 
sleeping  trees  on  shore  through  whose  intervening 
trunks  a  single  ray  of  light  streamed  —  a  candle's  gleam 
from  the  Arnold  home.  Moccasin's  lodge  at  the 
lake's  southern  end,  reposed  in  darkness  with  not  a 
suggestion  of  moonlight  piercing  the  foliage  of  the 
mammoth  trees  which  hovered  paternally  above  it, 
silently  as  they  had  stood  one  November  night,  black 
and  starry,  when  a  wild  cry,  strangely  unearthly,  had 


100  ONAWAGO 

arisen  within  this  forest,  striking  terror  to  the  hearts 
of  the  two  men  who  sat  before  their  campfire. 

Twenty  long,  uneventful  years  had  dragged  past 
since  that  night,  uneventful,  except  that  father  was  no 
more.  Yet  Moccasin,  now  a  white-haired,  hale  old 
Indian  of  some  sixty  odd,  still  inhabited  the  same  log 
lodge  father  and  he  had  constructed  those  twenty 
years  ago.  And  now  this  night  of  October,  one  of 
his  manufacture  was  the  dug-out  canoe  in  which 
Martha  and  I  drifted  upon  the  moonlit  lake.  No 
longer  were  we  children  as  when  our  family  had  set- 
tled in  this  rugged  wilderness  of  the  lake.  For  since 
that  memorable  night  of  our  coming,  ten  years  had 
sped  away— ten  years  of  our  youth — and  during  those 
ten  years  we  had  grown,  she  a  woman,  I  a  man — a 
man  in  stature,  a  man  in  mind  and  a  man  in  might 
— she  a  woman,  old  as  was  I  for  my  years  and  the 
pride  of  my  young  life.  Together  had  we  sprung 
from  childhood,  schooled  side  by  side  at  mother's 
hand,  and  with  a  stronger  tie  than  affiliation  existing 
between  us.  Six  feet  in  my  moccasins  stood  I  now 
at  nineteen,  with  the  rigor  and  vigor  of  the  wilder- 
ness instilled  into  every  fibre  of  my  strong  physique. 

"It  seems  queer  to  me,  Martha,  that  the  ghosts  of 
Indian  Hollow  should  cry  last  night  as  they  cried 


ONAWAGO  101 

that  evening  when  father  listened  to  them  from  the 
mountain-top;  for  since  then  no  one  has  ever  men- 
tioned hearing  them,  not  even  Moccasin.  Of  course, 
'twas  he  told  me  of  their  crying  last  night.  I  wonder 
what  father  would  think  were  he  living.  I  have 
never  liked  the  tradition.  Fact  is,  I  doubt  the  whole 
thing.  I  credit  it  merely  to  Moccasin's  imagination. 
Yet  father  used  to  tell  of  them  too,  and  swore  that 
you  could  hear  the  squaw  whimper  and  shriek  so 
realistic  that  you  could  all  but  see  her;  and  then  at 
the  end  the  buck  would  laugh  exultingly  when  he 
heard  her  beg.  But  faugh !  what's  the  sense  in  it  all? 
And  yet — yet  'tis  strange,  Martha,  rather  strange 
after  all." 

"Why,  Dave,  from  the  way  you  speak,  I  actually 
think  you  do  half  believe  in  them  yourself.  Father 
says  it's  nothing  but  Indian  legend;  probably  some 
Miamas  were  murdered  in  the  hollow  sometime  or 
other,  or  some  such  thing  gave  it  rise.  I  too  have 
news  for  you;  Bruce  Long  came  back  this  morning. 
Yes,  on  a  short  visit,  he  says.  And  he's  fine  looking, 
Dave;  I  tell  you,  he's  fine  looking.  We're  all  so 
proud  of  him.  Why,  Dave,  he's  oh,  so  handsome! 
And  such  clothes!  My,  they're  exquisite!  And  he 
brought  his  saddler  all  the  way  from  the  city.  He 


102  ONAWAGO 

says  it  was  a  terrible  undertaking  though  to  get  the 
horse  through.  He  rode  clear  across  from  Detroit 
and  shipped  his  luggage  by  train  to  Niles." 

"And  what  does  he  have  to  say  about  the  pro- 
perty?" I  asked. 

"Do  you  mean  the  particulars  of  Uncle  William's 
will?  Bruce  declares  that  there  is  more  property 
than  he  at  first  supposed  and  that  Uncle  was  far 
wealtheir  than  anyone  realized.  Ever  since  Bruce 
graduated  last  spring,  he  has  been  looking  into  the 
estate.  And  it's  true  that  father  and  Bruce  are  the 
sole  heirs." 

"It  seems  queer  to  me  that  he  willed  everything 
to  them,"  I  demurred.  "There  were  plenty  of  other 
relations." 

"Yes,  but  up  to  the  time  that  Uncle  William  be- 
came acquainted  with  Bruce  Long,  father  had  always 
been  his  sole  intimate.  Uncle  was  a  recluse  and  of 
course,  a  bachelor.  At  the  time  of  Uncle's  death, 
three  years  ago,  Bruce  and  father  were  still  his  only 
intimates  and  therefore,  he  created  them  his  heirs. 
The  estate  is  to  be  divided  equally  between  them  at 
the  expiration  of  the  allotted  three  years.  The  time 
is  almost  due  now." 

"And  why  this  three  years?"  I  queried. 


ONAWAGO  103 

"It  was  an  excellent  provision,"  she  replied  non- 
chalantly. 

"At  the  time  of  Uncle's  death,  Bruce  still  had 
three  years  at  college,  and  Uncle  wisely  provided 
that  he  should  come  to  the  estate  after  he  was  grad- 
uated, which,  I  understand,  he  did  with  the  highest 
honors." 

"Yes,  but  there  was  one  other  provision,  so  I 
understood." 

"Certainly;  that  if  either  Bruce  or  father  should 
die  before  the  three  years  should  have  elapsed,  then 
all  should  go  to  the  one  surviving.  And  that  is 
simply  because  Uncle  was  determined  that  they, 
Bruce  Long  and  father,  and  they  only,  should  have 
the  benefit  of  his  earnings.  That,  surely,  is  well 
enough." 

"Yes,  but,  Martha,  it  seems — it  seems  to  me — it 
seems,"  I  stammered.  "I  hate  to  say  this,  Martha; 
but  somehow,  I  feel  it  somehow,  Martha — I  feel  that 
you  are  somehow  slipping  away  from  me;  that  we 
shall  never  know  each  other  in  the  future  as  we 
have  in  the  past.  A  month  more,  and  you  will  be 
wealthy,  an  heiress.  Then  you  will  turn  your  back 
upon  these  woods  and  your  wilderness  home  for 
your  costlier  home  in  the  city.  And  as  for  me, 


104  ONAWAGO 

Martha,  I  shall  remain  here  in  the  woods.  I  have 
no  other  home — know  no  other  home.  These 
woods — these  woods  in  which  I  have  grown,  consti- 
tute all  of  my  small  world,  and  them  I  love.  These 
woods  alone  can  I  call  home — and  that,  and  that  a 
home  of  hemlock  logs;  yours  a  stone  mansion.  I,  a 
poor,  ignorant  back-woodsman;  you,  attending  some 
fashionable  school.  My  God,  Martha,  is  it  possible 
this  can  be!" 

"Don't,  Dave,  don't!  Don't  talk  like  that!  I 
can't  endure  it.  You  know  it  is  hard  enough  already 
to  think  of  going  away  without  your  making  it  any 
harder." 

"But  I  am  only  telling  you  the  truth,  Martha,  this 
truth  that  lurks  in  my  heart  with  an  aching  pang. 
And,  moreover,  I  feel  that  Bruce — that  Bruce  Long, 
has  come  with  more  intent  than  a  visit;  that  he  shall 
take  back  with  him  far  more  than  a  mere  pleasant 
impression  of  his  boyhood  home.  I  hate — I  loath 
to  say  it,  Martha;  my  God,  I  loath  even  to  think  it 
— but  for  your  sake  as  well  as  my  own,  I  speak;  for 
full  sure  I  am  that  he  has  come— that  he  has  come 
for  more — for  more  than — than  a — a  mere  visit." 

"Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  this,  Dave!"  she  ex- 
claimed in  a  startled  breath,  her  eyes  alight  with 


The  unshucked  ear  slipped  from  my  grasp. — Page  108. 


ONAWAGO  105 

salient  fear.     "Tell  me  why  you  think  he  has  come 

for  more  than  a  mere  visit.    Tell  me.    I  demand  it." 

"I  mean,  Martha,"  I  answered,  my  voice  husky 

with  emotion,   "I  mean  that  he  has  come  for— for 

» » 
you. 

She  replied  not. 

I  was  bending  forward,  heedless  of  surroundings, 
gazing  upon  that  sweet  face  upturned  to  the  moon- 
beams— that  face  I  loved  so  dearly,  and  which  I  now 
saw — and  my  heart  sank — slowly  paling.  And  still 
she  replied  not,  though  I  waited  breathless  for  an 
answer,  while  a  deathlike  pall  settled  upon  my  heart. 
And  as  I  waited,  the  reigning  quietude  lay  unbroken, 
while  the  placid  smoothness  of  the  silvered  lake 
rippled  with  not  even  as  much  as  the  leap  of  a  bass 
or  the  swish  of  a  marauding  pickerel. 

"Son-of-my-Brother!" 

We  both  started  from  our  reveries.  But  only 
Moccasin  and  his  canoe  had  glided  noiselessly  along- 
side our  own. 

"Son-of-my-Brother,"  he  again  spoke  in  his 
familiar  Pottawattamie.  "A  new  track  lies  in  the 
forest.  A  footprint  leads  to  the  door  of  my  daugh- 
ter's wigwam — but  it  is  not  this  track  that  lies  in  the 
forest.  This  track  that  lies  in  the  forest  touches  the 


106  ONAWAGO 

earth  but  in  spots.  The  footprint  that  leads  to  the 
door  of  the  wigwam  of  Nin-don-son  follows  straight 
and  is  clad  in  the  heavy  leather  that  is  made  in  the 
great  cities  of  the  palefaces.  A  paleface  from  the  city 
it  is  who  walks.  The  toe  turns  out." 

"But,  Ne-can-es,  this  track  that  lies  in  the  forest 
leads  in  a  different  direction.  It  follows  no  path; 
neither  does  it  step.  Merely  the  marks  of  wicker- 
work,  is  this  track  that  lies  in  the  forest." 


ONAWAGO  107 


CHAPTER  II. 
LONG'S  STRANGERS. 

TT  was  the  following  week,  and  Friday.  The  hush 
•^  and  sublimity  of  Indian  summer  lay  over  the 
land;  but  the  halcyon  days  were  nearing  their  close. 
The  afternoon  was  rapidly  waning,  and  already  the 
sun  was  sinking  to  his  rest.  Already  a  tender  tone 
of  rose  was  growing  in  the  east;  while  just  tipping 
the  eastern  horizon,  wan  and  ghostly,  swung  the  pal- 
lid moon.  Already  the  lonely  wail  of  a  screech 
owl  over  in  the  woods,  and  a  winging  night-hawk 
brushed  past  me,  low  over  the  stubble. 

I  sat  cross-legged  husking;  and  the  golden  ears 
lay  in  small  piles  throughout  the  field,  one  pile  to 
each  shock.  I  was  now  upon  the  final  shock  and 
anxious  to  be  through.  I  was  working  late,  endeav- 
oring to  complete  my  fall's  work  somewhat  earlier 
this  season.  I  was  facing  south.  Over  on  my  left, 
and  adjoining  the  corn  field,  stretched  my  timothy 
meadow,  and  just  beyond  it  stood  my  log-built  home. 
And  as  I  rested  a  minute  in  my  work  a  candle's 


108  ONAWAGO 

feeble  light  sprang  from  its  window  and  streamed 
out  upon  the  prescient  night.  And  as  I  gazed  at  it, 
from  over  at  the  barn  the  hungry  neigh  of  old  Barney, 
impatient  and  wondering  at  his  prolonged  wait  for 
his  supper,  came  quavering  out  upon  the  still  night 
air. 

Encircling  the  "clearings"  skirted  the  uncut  forest, 
now  gloom-wrapped  in  the  shades  of  gloaming, 
while  through  a  single  vista  I  could  discern  a  glint  of 
the  mirroring  lake.  And  over  to  my  right,  against 
the  fiery  glare  of  the  sinking  sun,  in  black  and  sinister 
silhouette,  rose  the  giant  hill  and  his  lesser  brothers, 
their  prosaic  regularity  of  ridge-crest  standing  like 
great  genii  guarding  jealously  their  secret  solitudes. 
One  opening  alone  cut  its  depression  through  their 
ranks — the  deep  gulch  of  Indian  Hollow,  wrapped 
in  shadow,  sombre  and  forbidding. 

The  forest  rose  just  behind  me;  its  shade  already 
held  me,  and  I  sat  with  my  back  to  the  shock.  I 
may  have  paused  some  minutes  in  my  work;  I  can 
not  state  positively  for  I  was  oblivious  for  the  nonce 
to  self  and  surroundings,  brooding  as  I  was  upon  that 
which  imperiled  my  future.  Be  it  as  it  may,  'twas 
suddenly  that  I  started,  and  the  unshucked  ear  slip- 
ped from  my  grasp.  A  far  distant  sound — one 


ONAWAGO  109 

musical  to  the  hunter-born — had  struck  upon  my  ear. 
Once  more  it  came — the  long,  deep,  drawn-out  bay 
of  a  tracking  hound.  Again  it  lifted,  full  and  clear, 
and  I  recognized  old  Luxor's  bass. 

From  the  moment  I  had  gathered  him  in  my 
arms  that  April  day  as  we  approached  Barterville, 
through  these  ten  ensuing  years,  he  had  been  my 
faithful  and  ever-constant  companion.  His  cherished 
memory  even  now  quickens  the  impulse  within  me 
in  recording  this  laconic  chronicle.  "Luxor"  we 
called  him,  or  "Lux"  for  short. 

Again  came  his  deep-voiced  bay,  louder,  nearer 
now — resounding  and  reverbrating  in  long-drawn 
measures  and  half-sobs  off  through  the  silence-wrap- 
ped forest  and  away  over  into  the  sentinel-like  dunes. 
Automatically  I  arose  from  the  ground  and  straight- 
ened to  full  height.  But  instantly  I  slunk  back  close 
to  the  shock,  crouching  low  and  listening.  For  from 
behind  me  in  the  woods  issued  the  low  intonations 
of  conversing  voices — voices  conversing  in  the  Pot- 
tawattamie  tongue.  But  Pottawattamie  was  as  fluent 
in  my  command  well-nigh,  as  was  my  English; 
tutored  as  I  had  been  by  Moccasin. 

They  drew  nearer,  though  not  within  coherent 
range;  and  I  recognized  the  one  conducting  the  ma- 


110  ONAWAGO 

jority  of  the  conversation.  It  was  striking  and  dif- 
ferent from  any  other  that  I  had  ever  known — rather 
soft  for  a  man's,  musical  and  tremulous,  yet  firm  and 
decisive,  fluctuant  as  the  owner's  mood  might  be. 
Just  now  it  was  a  low,  deep  monotone.  It  belonged 
to  no  other  than  Bruce  Long.  Bruce  Long  here! 
And  with  whom! 

I  leaned  far  sidewise,  eagerly  straining  to  catch 
their  words.  But  I  failed  to  discern  the  trend  of 
their  discourse.  And  I  slipped  around  the  shock  and 
tried  to  see  whom  Long's  companion  might  be,  even 
risking  exposure  of  myself  in  the  act.  But  they  were 
deep  within  the  gloom  of  the  trees  and  I  was  there- 
upon unable  to  detect  their  persons  among  the  shad- 
ows. And  afterwards  I  was  heartily  thankful  that 
they  failed  to  notice  me. 

But  as  I  watched,  the  talking  ceased  a  moment. 
Then  suddenly  a  light  flared  in  the  darkness,  flashing 
full  upon  the  faces  of  three  men.  Two  of  them  I 
instantly  knew  to  be  French-Canadian  half-breeds. 
The  third  was  Bruce  Long.  He  was  lighting  a  cigar- 
ette with  a  small  blazing  stick.  I  wondered  deeply, 
for  it  was  the  first  match  that  I  had  ever  seen. 

It  blazed  an  instant,  then  Long  threw  it  aside,  and 
in  the  air  it  went  out.  All  was  black  again.  Only 


ONAWAGO  111 

the  red  coal  of  the  cigarette  glowed  and  showed  the 
course  they  were  taking.  And  they  were  coming 
from  the  hills.  My  curiosity  was  highly  aroused,  and 
I  rued  my  disadvantage  in  being  unable  to  distinguish 
their  words. 

And  I  was  still  intent  upon  that  cigarette  coal 
when  "Who-wha-a-who!"  from  off  toward  the  lake 
broke  in  upon  the  mellow  strains  of  Luxor's  hunting- 
song.  And  I,  forming  a  cup  of  my  palms  and  plac- 
ing them  to  my  mouth,  hallooed  back  in  answer 
"Who-wha-a-who!"  to  Dick  and  Jean.  For  I  knew 
full  sure  it  was  Dick  McCollister  and  Jean  Ferrier, 
my  sole  chums  of  the  wilderness.  They  resided 
three  miles  cross-cut  to  the  south-east  of  us,  our 
nearest  neighbors  besides  the  Arnolds  and  old  Moc- 
casin in  that  slowly  settling  wild.  And  today  it 
seems  a  long  way  to  have  gone  for  neighbors,  but 
little  did  we  actually  think  of  it  in  those  days.  The 
boys  and  I  had  arranged  for  a  coon-hunt  this  night, 
and  I  saw  them  by  the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  after- 
glow, emerge  from  the  woods  and  climbing  the 
old  stake-and-rider  fence,  strike  across-field  in  my 
direction. 

"Got  'em  set  a-goin'  a'reedy,  eh?"  shouted  Jean 
as  I  went  forward  to  meet  them.  "Perty  fine  music, 


112  ONAWAGO 

thet.  Great  ol'  voice  I  tell  you.  Soun's  better'n  a 
dance-fiddle  t'  all  cept  the  coon,  I  jedge." 

"No  'coon  there,"  I  answered.  'That  bay  means 
deer,  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

And  straightway  I  was  mindless  of  Bruce  Long 
and  the  two  strangers.  And  straightway,  willingly  I 
abandoned  my  shucking,  and  together  we  strolled 
across  the  meadow  over  home.  Supper  had  long 
awaited  me;  but  first  I  attended  to  my  chores,  then 
hurriedly  ate.  And  while  I  ate  old  Luxor's  deep 
strains  drifted  to  us  through  the  silent  night  and 
through  our  open  door  and  set  our  nerves  a-tingle. 

"Me  'n'  Jean  here  sot  it  down  ez  what  we  warn't 
goin'  t'  kill  nary  a  deer  this  fall  till  snow  flew,"  com- 
mented Dick  in  his  woods-bred  drawl.  "But  I  reckon 
ez  when  a  feller  hears  thet  sort  o'  music  he  kinder 
fergits  his  determination.  S'posin*  ez  how  thet's 
mebbe  a  buck  now,  'twouldn't  do  nary  harm  t'  bring 
him  down.  Eh,  Jean?" 

"There's  not  one  bit  of  use,  boys,"  I  broke  in,  ob- 
serving their  uneasiness,  "of  waiting  for  me.  The 
deer  is  making  right  up  the  ravine  between  here  and 
Arnold's.  If  he  has  not  already  passed,  you  can  get 
the  lead  of  him,  and  I  will  join  you  shortly." 

"Wahl,  we  ain't  jest  likin'  the  idee  o'  rushin'  ofFm 


ONAWAGO  113 

you,  but  it's  sartin  and  sure  thet  if  he's  a'ready  past, 
we  won't  kill  him;  'n'  nohow  'twon't  do  nary  harm 
tf  try,  I  guess." 

"Never  mind  about  excusses,"  I  replied  off-hand. 
"Hurry  and  luck  to  you.  I'll  be  there  too,  as  soon  as 
I've  finished  this  grub." 

"Jest  shoot  if  y'  can't  find  us,"  Jean  called  from 
the  door.  "An'  don't  be  long  eatin'." 

In  due  season  I  finished  my  supper,  and  snatch- 
ing my  rifle-— father's  old  flint-lock — and  the  powder- 
horn  and  shot-pouch  from  the  wall,  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  house,  when  I  noticed  that 
mother  was  watching  me  with  marked  degree  of  ap- 
prehension. It  had  ever  been  thus.  She  feared  the 
gun  and  the  woods,  especially  by  night.  And  as 
usual  I  went  over  to  her,  put  an  arm  fondly  about 
her  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"Never  mind,  mother,"  I  said,  "never  mind. 
I'll  be  back  early,  and  maybe  we'll  have  venison 
tomorrow." 

"Dave,"  she  answered,  and  her  voice  was  tender, 
"Dave,  I  like  not  for  you  to  hunt  with  those  boys, 
especially  by  night.  I  am  afraid,"  she  faltered.  "I've 
always  been  afraid  and  can't  help  it.  It  may  be  silly 


114  ONAWAGO 

to  feel  this  way  about  it,  but,  son-o-naine,  I  can't 
help  it." 

"Why,  mother,  there  is  not  the  least  danger. 
Really  there  is  not.  And  you  know  that  we  have 
been  out  of  meat  for  some  time  now,  and  we  need 
some  badly.  Do  not  compel  me  to  go  feeling  guilty 
because  of  going  against  your  will.  And  so  far  as 
the  boys  are  concerned,  there  never  lived  two  better 
hearted  fellows  than  Dick  and  Jean." 

"But,"  and  her  words  came  hesitant,  "Mr. 
Arnold-." 

"I  know  full  well  that  Tom  doesn't  like  them  nor 
ever  has,  for  that  matter.  But  many  people  Tom 
doesn't  like.  It  all  depends  upon  whether  he  takes 
a  notion  to  a  person  or  not,  that's  all.  You  know 
he  will  not  even  tolerate  little  Mary  here  just  because 
she  trampled  down  and  plucked  some  of  his  buck- 
wheat once  because  she  wanted  some  posies.  Tom's 
a  crank  in  some  ways.  And  just  because  he  dislikes 
Dick  and  Jean  because  they  accidentally  shot  that 
fool  calf,  misjudging  it  for  a  deer,  speaks  nothing  in 
disfavor  toward  them." 

"Yes,  but  don't  you  know  that  Bouncer  was  yes- 
terday found  dead  with  a  bullet  through  him?" 

"Found  dead!"  I  gasped.     "Where?" 


ONAWAGO  115 

Bouncer  was  Martha's  dog  and  I  loved  him  almost 
as  my  own, 

"Found  dead  in  the  ravine  woods.  And  Tom 
thinks  these  very  boys  are  guilty  of  his  death." 

"Then  Tom's  wrong,  Mother.  Dick  and  Jean 
both  thought  a  great  deal  of  old  Bouncer.  Why, 
just  think  how  much  we  have  hunted  together  with 
him.  And  they  have  always  been  fond  of  him — 
just  as  fond  of  him  as  they  are  even  of  Luxor." 

"You  may  be  right,  son,  But  do  be  careful,  for 
my  sake,  be  awfully  careful  about  shooting." 

"I  always  am.  Do  not  be  concerned  about  me. 
There  is  no  danger,  I  assure  you." 

Mayhap  I  would  have  tarried  to  say  more,  but 
the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  cut  me  short,  and  I  hastened 
from  the  house  into  the  moon-lit  night  without. 

Another  rifle  spoke,  its  booming  report  bounding 
down  the  silence  in  long  and  lasting  reverberations, 
its  muttering  cadences  slowly  dying  away  into  silence 
in  the  forest  across  the  lake. 

I  hurried,  almost  ran,  to  the  woods,  and  thence 
down  into  the  ravine  following  the  creek  toward  the 
quarter  whence  the  shots. 


116  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  III. 
A  SHOT  FROM  THE  DARK. 

night  was  breathless.  Strained  stillness  had 
fallen  upon  the  woods.  Luxor's  voice  at  the 
second  report  had  suddenly  hushed.  And  not  a 
sound  came  there  to  direct  me  as  I  plodded  along 
the  creek's  devious  way,  striking  downstream.  The 
sallow  moon,  still  far  to  eastward,  filtered  her  wan 
beams  down  through  the  leafy  covering  of  the  woods 
and  her  feeble  rays  fell  in  small  blotches  of  light 
upon  the  ground  about  me. 

And  I  wandered  on,  perforce  more  slowly  now, 
hampered  by  this  indistinct  gloom  about  me,  and 
wondering  at  this  sudden  quiet.  Then  after  a  time, 
far  away,  old  Luxor's  voice  was  raised  in  one  long 
mournful  howl.  And  instantly  I  knew  something 
was  wrong.  And  I  sprang  forward  on  the  run,  call- 
ing loudly,  but  received  no  answer.  Momentarily  I 
grew  more  apprehensive.  Then  as  I  hastened  pre- 
cipitately on,  stumbling,  staggering  in  the  dark,  and 
continuously  calling,  my  old  dog  sprang  from  out 


ONAWAGO  117 

the  gloom  before  me,  and  turning  as  quickly  about, 
led  me  on,  straight  out  of  the  ravine  and  up  into  the 
higher  woods  to  a  natural  opening  of  the  trees 
where  the  moonlight  streamed  down  in  unobstructed 
splendor. 

And  never  shall  I  forget  the  sight  of  it  all;  how 
old  Luxor,  running  forward  into  the  center  of  the 
opening,  paused  beside  something  which  lay  at 
length  upon  the  ground;  and  I  can  again  see  his  un- 
gainly hound's  body,  char-black  and  glossy  in  the 
moonlight  and  his  long  black  tail  drooped  low — see 
him  as  he  sank  almost  to  earth,  and  his  sleek, 
ear-stubbed  head  raised  toward  the  stars  as  he 
poured  forth  his  sorrow  once  again  in  his  deep- 
voiced,  woeful  wail,  as  though  he  well  compre- 
hended the  significance  of  that  which  he  guarded  as 
his  licit  own. 

And  I,  for  the  moment,  stood  as  one  stricken 
suddenly  with  paralysis,  powerless  to  stir  from  my 
tracks.  And  I  could  but  vaguely  discern  that  before 
me;  but  even  so,  my  brain  swam,  my  blood  chilled 
and  my  hand  involuntarily  sought  my  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  vision.  For,  in  the  center  of  the  space,  his 
kindly  face  tuned  upward  to  the  bright  moonlight, 
lay  my  friend,  and  all  but  father  (for  in  troth  such 


118  ONAWAGO 

had  he  been,  fosterly,  since  the  demise  of  mine 
own),  Thomas  Arnold,  dead! 

I  groaned  aloud,  and  reeled  backward,  nigh  unto 
falling,  dazed.  But  in  reeling,  a  strong  arm  was 
thrust  about  me,  my  rifle  was  wrenched  quickly  from 
my  grasp  and  I  found  as  the  shock  of  the  surprise 
wore  off,  that  my  hands  had  been  deftly  bound  be- 
hind me.  I  turned  and  faced  Bruce  Long. 

He  was  shirt-sleeved  and  bare-headed.  And  he 
was  grim-visaged  and  self-collected.  And  for  the 
moment  I  could  not  find  my  tongue.  I  stood  as 
one  suddenly  precipitated  into  dark  void,  unable 
to  even  grope  for  an  explanation,  and  my  faculties 
seemed  stupid  and  I  could  not  think. 

Then  slowly  I  became  aware  of  one  other  thing 
— became  aware  of  one  other  presence  besides  Bruce. 
And  it  was  some  little  time  ere  I  became,  in  a 
blurred  sort  of  way,  fully  assured  that  it  was  no 
other  than  Moccasin.  Then  slowly  as  my  mind 
cleared,  I  wondered  that  he  should  assist  Long  in 
this  work. 

But  Bruce  Long  lost  no  time.  He  grasped  me 
by  the  shoulder  and  led  me  to  one  side.  And  he 
indicated  with  a  finger,  where  looking,  I  beheld 


ONAWAGO  119 

upon  the  ground  close  to  the  edge  of  the  clearing, 
Dick  and  Jean,  bound  hand  and  foot. 

"And  you  are  in  it  too,"  he  said  with  delibera- 
tion. "I  thought  as  much." 

For  the  moment  I  made  him  no  answer.  Then 
slowly  a  thought  came  to  me.  And  as  I  spoke 
I  turned  toward  him.  At  my  words  I  saw  him 
flinch;  and  I  saw  his  face,  pale  as  it  was  even  then 
in  the  wan  moonlight,  blanch  lurid. 

"Dick  and  Jean,  I  presume  you  mean,  sir.  But 
where  are  your  two  accomplices,  sir?" 

But  even  as  he  paled  he  laughed  lightly,  care- 
lessly. 

"Surely,  young  Bundy,  you  are  glib-tongued. 
And  what  you  may  mean  is  far  from  me  to  under- 
stand. You  are  shaken;  you  are  shocked  and  your 
speech  does  not  convey  your  thoughts.  My  two 
accomplices?  Your  two  accomplices,  you  mean. 
They  are  here  before  you.  Are  you  blind  in  the 
moonlight?" 

And  his  manner  was  indicative  of  forced  satire. 

"Scarcely,  sir,"  I  answered. 

He  looked  at  me  with  narrowed  lids. 

"You  are  a  fool!"  he  snapped  sulkily.  "Go  lie 
with  the  others!" 


120  ONAWAGO 

And  I,  helpless  as  I  was  with  my  hands  bound 
behind  me,  was  pushed  suddenly  backward  by  him, 
and  stumbling,  fell  to  the  earth.  Ere  I  could  re- 
cover myself,  he  had  wrapped  a  thong  about  my 
ankles,  and  I,  with  the  boys,  lay  powerless  as  they. 

"Here,  Moccasin,  lend  a  hand,"  Long  said  as  he 
straightened  up.  Moccasin,  obeying,  they  gath- 
ered the  body  of  Tom  between  them,  and  gravely 
they  carried  it  homeward,  Luxor  following;  while 
we  three,  lying  there  in  the  silvery  moonlight,  were 
logs  in  our  bondage,  and  as  such,  scarce  wondered 
at  the  strangeness  of  it  all. 

"Dave,"  at  length  whispered  Jean. 

"What,"  I  answered. 

"What  d'  yer  s'pose  it  all  means,  anyhow?" 

"It  means,"  I  replied  pointedly,  "it  means  that 
we  three  are  murderers." 

"Murderers?"  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  of  mystifi- 
cation. 

"Yes;  that  you  and  Dick  and  I  have  killed  Tom 
Arnold." 

"Killed  Tom  Arnold?  Why,  Dave,  yer  jokin'. 
We  didn't  hurt  Tom.  He  shot  hisself." 

"That  remains  to  be  proved.     Tell  me  about  it." 

In  a  poor  sort  of  way  I  was  but  trying  their  metal. 


ONAWAGO  121 

"Yer  don't  mean  it,  Dave,"  broke  in  Dick. 
"Course  yer  only  jokin'.  Really  yer  don't  mean 
that  ye  believe  we  killed  Tom,  d'yer?" 

"Believing  or  no,  looks  as  though  you  did  it." 

"Why,  Dave,  we  war  a  talkin'.  He  war  tellin' 
us  ter  git  off 'n  his  land." 

"Thought  so,"  I  commented. 

"Ns  we  'as  goin'  t'  git  off  when  the  buck  come 
erlong.  We  both  o'  us  fired." 

"I  did  not,"  growled  Jean,  querulously. 

"I  hearn  yer  shoot  jest  arter  me." 

"Twa'n't  me  though,"  affirmed  Jean. 

"Then  who  the  devil  war  it?" 

"Can't  say;  twa'n't  me  though.     'Twar  behind 


me." 


"From  behind  you?"  I  exclaimed  incredulously. 
"Yea,  from  the  dark,"  answered  Jean. 
"Was  Long  with  Arnold?"  I  next  asked. 
"Didn't  see  nothin'  o'  him." 
"And  where  was  Moccasin?" 
"Him   neither.     He   must  'a'  been  with  Long,  I 
guess.     Leastways  they  two  ketched  us." 
"Caught  you?    Why,  did  you  run?" 
"Dick  did— to  the  deer.    I  stayed  thar  with  Tom. 


122  ONAWAGO 

I  saw  him  ez  he  keeled  over,  an'  I  grabbed  him  ez 
he  sprawled.  Jest  while  I  war  aholt  o'  him  yit,  they 
two  ketched  me.  Then  they  got  Dick  while  he  war 
a-cuttin'  the  buck's  throat'" 

"But  who  fired  the  second  shot,  Jean?" 

"Thet  war  the  one  from  the  dark.  Came  jest 
arter  Dick's." 

"Where's  your  gun,  Jean?" 

"Lyin'  over  thar,  I  reckon,  jest  whar  I  left  it- 
over  thar  whar  Arnold  war  a-layin'." 

I  commenced  wrestling  with  my  thongs.  An 
idea  had  come  to  me.  Could  I  but  procure  Jean's 
gun,  I  could  verify  his  statements  and  satisfy  nay 
doubts  concerning  the  affair,  in  this  one  phase  at 
least.  But  even  as  I  strove  to  free  myself,  I  heard 
indistinctly  a  whispered  "Dave"  from  the  gloom, 
and  I  knew  it  was  Martha's  voice. 

"Here  I  am,  Martha,"  I  answered. 

And  I  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress  as  she  came 
nearer.  As  she  came  to  me  I  saw  her  catch  her 
breath  in  surprise,  and,  as  she  bent  above  me,  I  saw 
her  face  was  tearful;  her  checked  sobbing  was  aud- 
ible in  the  over-wrought  stillness. 

"Moccasin  told  me  you  were  here,  Dave.     He 


ONAWAGO  123 

said  as  he  did  the  other  night,  'The  track  still  lies  in 
the  forest/  but  I  don't  know  what  he  means." 

Stooping  over  me  she  unsheathed  my  knife,  and, 
as  with  an  effort,  I  turned  to  my  side,  she  cut  my 
thongs,  and  then  those  about  my  ankles;  I  stood 
free,  and  for  the  next  moment  hesitated.  But  not 
so  Martha.  Instantly  she  was  at  the  side  of  Dick  and 
she  cut  his  thongs  as  she  had  mine;  then  in  turn 
Jean's,  and  they  stood  with  me,  rubbing  their  smart- 
ing and  aching  limbs  where  the  bonds  had  cruelly 
bound. 

Thus  she  spoke  as  she  came  over  and  resheathed 
my  knife  in  my  belt,  saying:  "Dave,  you  are  at  lib- 
erty now.  If  you  would  remain  so,  do  not  come  to 
the  house — do  not  meddle  with  Bruce  Long.  He  is 
infuriated.  Serious  results  will  come  of  it.  They 
will  return  here  shortly  for  you,  and  you  had  better 
leave  immediately."  Then  ere  I  could  remonstrate 
or  detain  her,  with  a  lowly  mumble,  "Remember 
Moccasin  says:  'The  track  still  lies  in  the  forest,'  and 
she  was  gone  like  a  shadow  dissolving  into  the 
nightly  shades. 

Still  I  stood,  experiencing  a  state  of  semi-compre- 
hension of  the  things  that  had  transpired  about  me. 


124  ONAWAGO 

I  brushed  a  hand  across  my  eyes  as  though  to  clear 
my  vision  and  my  thoughts,  exerting  myself  to  rally 
to  immediate  action.  I  was  brought  to  full  concious- 
ness  by  Jean. 

While  I  went  for  mine,  he  strode  over  to  his  gun. 
It  lay  exactly  where  it  had  fallen  from  his  grasp  when 
he  had  sprung  to  Arnold's  assistance.  He  secured 
it,  brought  it  to  me,  and  I,  inspecting  the  priming, 
found  the  load  still  intact.  I  smelt  of  the  muzzle. 
Obviously  it  had  not  been  fired  since  last  cleaning. 

Whence  then  that  second  shot? 

I  spoke  first. 

"Notwithstanding  Martha's  advice,  boys,  it  seems 
to  me  our  place  is  to  go  straight  up  to  the  house  and 
stand  our  ground.  It  is  all  bad  enough  as  it  is,  but  it 
may  be  worse.  There  are  three  of  us — should  affairs 
come  to  it— against  two;  and  I'm  pretty  certain  of 
Moccasin.  What  say  you,  Dick?" 

"Not  for  mine/'  he  grumbled.  "I'm  goin'  home 
jest  ez  quick  ez  I  can  get  thar." 

"And  you,  Jean?" 

"Ner  me  neither.     I'm  fer  home,  too." 

"Come,  then,"  I  answered,  and  struck  into  the 
woods,  intent  homeward.  The  boys  followed,  me- 


ONAWAGO 


125 


chanically,   silently,   close   areai,    u 

l-liaqyj]y 

along,  their  dogged  conduct  expressive  of  their  utter 
mystification  of  the  whole  affair,  as  in  troth,  was  I 
also. 


126  ONAWAGO 

CHAPTER  IV. 
AN  UNSPRUNG  TRAP  OF  NATURE. 

TNTERSECTING  our  place  from  Arnold's,  wound 
-*-  the  creek!  Its  ravine  still  lay  heavily  timbered, 
not  a  stick  of  the  primeval  having  been  felled  except 
where  our  private  road-way  cut  its  passage.  On 
either  slope  of  the  ravine  a  cut  in  the  hill  had  been 
necessary  for  the  road  with  a  small  "fill"  at  the 
bottom;  while  on  either  side  of  the  creek-bed  for 
some  twenty  yards,  "corduroy"  had  been  resorted  to 
on  account  of  the  unstable  quality  of  the  soil — a  soft 
ooze  popularly  termed  "quagmire."  Spanning  the 
stream  a  rude  bridge  of  cedar  logs  the  size  of  fence- 
posts,  rendered  precarious  crossing. 

'Twas  here  at  this  road  that  I  bade  the  boys  good- 
night, as  they  betook  themselves  on  homeward,  pur- 
suing the  ravine's  devious  route,  thence  around  the 
lake  and  cross-cut  on  a  ticklish  trail  the  remainder  of 
the  way.  Upon  their  departure  I  went  down  to  the 
creek  bridge  and  lingered  there,  gazing  meditatively 
down  into  the  sluggish  flow,  revolving  over  and  over 


ONAWAGO  127 

in  my  mind  the  occurrences  of  the  last  hour.  I 
brooded  morbidly  upon  them.  I  could  come  to  no 
decision  upon  any  feature.  What  could  be  the  basis 
for  such  complicated  enigma?  Whence  that  second 
shot?  I  stood  and  puzzled.  Then  I  remembered 
Bruce  Long's  two  strangers. 

I  seated  myself  upon  the  edge  of  the  bridge. 
About  me  as  I  sat  there  and  along  the  narrow  vista 
of  the  roadway,  the  bright  moonlight  streamed  down 
coldly,  but  within  the  surrounding  forest  it  struggled 
uncertainly  through  the  luxuriant  foliage,  rendering 
naught  therein  definite  in  detail.  The  gloom  of  the 
trees  seemed  haunted  with  dusky-shrouded  appari- 
tions stealthily  wandering  about — wavering  shadow- 
ghosts  of  departed  sylvan  life.  And  now  and  anon 
I  turned  a  half-questioning  glance  into  its  barrier, 
somehow  expectant  of  something  lurking  within  its 
concealment. 

From  shortly  down-stream  where  the  flow  gurgled 
through  an  obstruction  of  brush-drift  and  leaves,  the 
gentle  droning  of  water  softly  rippled  with  pleasant 
volubility  through  the  reigning  quietude — the  only 
continuous  interruption  upon  the  nightly  silence. 
Frequently  from  over  on  the  ravine  slope  the  hushed 
sublimity  of  the  moon-lit  night  would  be  broken  by 


128  ONAWAGO 

the  fall-drumming  of  a  hen  partridge.  No  nocturnal 
voice  of  the  wild  was  lifted  in  the  placid  tranquility, 
and  only  the  strident  scrapping  of  a  single  katydid 
from  a  nearby  branch  announced  the  approach  of 
winter. 

Suddenly  the  bark  of  a  fox  was  answered  by  the 
howl  of  a  wolf.  I  became  alert.  I  looked  to  the 
priming  of  my  gun.  Then  as  all  subsided  once  more 
into  silence,  I  divined  it  naught  but  a  co-incidence  of 
the  wilderness;  and  thereupon  resumed  my  train  of 
meditation. 

I  was  moodily  inclined  to-night  and  melancholy. 
And  well  so,  since  the  harrowing  incidents  of  the 
final  hour.  I  was  of  no  mind  to  go  home  and 
inform  mother  of  the  sad  news.  Every  hour  now 
was  an  hour  of  grace.  For  how  should  I  ever 
manage  a  plausible  explanation  —  how  account  for 
Tom's  death?  Tell  her  that  the  boys — the  boys  she 
had  repeatedly  warned  me  against — had  deliberately 
become  murderers?  Oh,  no.  The  very  thought 
was  repulsive.  Or,  was  I  able,  with  my  poor  gifts  of 
colloquy  to  plead  sufficiently  their  cause  to  turn  her 
prejudiced  convictions  and  by  recounting  my  nigh 
groundless  fears  and  suspicions,  divert  them  into 


ONAWAGO  129 

other  source?  I  regarded  it  impossible — and  I  de- 
ferred the  compulsory  hour. 

A  muskrat  floated  from  under  the  bridge  beneath 
me  and  on  down  current,  causing  scarce  a  ripple  in 
its  passage.  And  as  I  watched  it  swing  from  sight 
around  a  bend  just  below — again  the  bark  of  a  fox 
was  answered  by  the  howl  of  a  wolf — nearer  now, 
one  just  over  where  the  grouse  had  but  ended  her 
prolonged  drum-roll;  the  other  just  to  the  left  on  the 
opposite  hillside. 

I  stood  up.  Surely  it  was  extraordinary  for  a  fox 
to  call  a  wolf. 

Again  sounded  a  repetition  of  the  cries — now 
from  each  side  of  me;  and  I,  glancing  toward  the 
block  of  opening  at  the  road-cut  in  the  hill,  beheld 
the  figure  of  a  man  outlined  distinctly  against  the 
moon's  brilliancy,  standing  at  the  brow  of  the  slope. 
I  turned  about  and  looked  behind  me.  A  second 
man  stood  at  the  opposite  opening. 

I  was  trapped;  on  either  side  of  me,  as  I  have 
previously  stated,  on  either  bank  of  the  creek,  the 
ground  was  treacherous  to  the  foot.  And  the  stream 
itself  at  this  point  was  wide  and  shallow,  impossible 
for  swimming,  and  flowed  over  a  bed  of  soft  muck, 
more  treacherous  than  quicksand,  and  almost  bottom- 


130  ONAWAGO 

less.  Plots  such  as  these  abound  in  these  regions  and 
full  well  the  resident  realizes  his  jeopardy  upon  ven- 
turing into  such  a  one. 

Verily  I  was  trapped. 

The  corduroy  alone  provided  an  escape — and  to 
traverse  it,  I  must  needs  walk  some  twenty  yards 
toward  one  or  the  other  of  these  men — these  men, 
one  in  attitude  and  position  the  replica  of  the  other 
and  whom  I  readily  deduced  from  their  bulky  phy- 
siques, to  be  no  other  than  Long's  strangers. 

I  considered  all  this  in  the  lapse  of  a  couple  of 
seconds.  Apprehensively  and  noiselessly  I  drew 
back  the  hammer  of  my  gun,  careful  to  avoid  a  be- 
traying click  of  the  lock,  and  at  the  same  time,  I  ex- 
amined the  state  of  the  priming. 

I  glanced  up  again  toward  the  man  at  the  east- 
ward opening  of  the  road.  He  was  not  there!  I 
turned  to  the  other.  He  also  had  vanished! 

I  was  at  a  loss,  more  taken  aback  and  surprised 
at  this  mysterious  disappearance  than  I  had  been  at 
their  sudden  appearance. 

Then  I  descried  something  large  and  black  in  the 
road  at  the  base  of  the  cut. 

Could  I  have  dreamed,  or  had  I  experienced  a 
chimera  of  my  inherited  idiosyncrasy? 


ONAWAGO  131 

Luxor  alone  was  coming,  trotting  leisurely  down 
the  road  toward  me.  Then  with  him  beside  me,  I 
continued  my  way  home.  Mother  had  retired  when 
I  arrived.  I  was  thankful.  She  would  rest  better 
this  night,  unapprised  of  the  events  of  the  evening. 


132  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  BARRELLESS  FLINT-LOCK  MUSKET. 

O  ATURDAY  morn  broke  clear  and  calm  after  a 
^  wakeful  night  on  my  part.  I  was  up  ere  dawn 
and  through  with  my  chores  before  the  day  had 
fairly  begun.  But  I  dreaded  mother's  call  to  break- 
fast, for  I  had  determined  upon  telling  her  the  sad 
news  and  upon  trying  my  utmost  to  effect  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  belief  in  Dick's  and  Jean's  in- 
nocence. 

So  when  at  last  her  summons  came,  I  went  with- 
out delay.  But  I  could  not  force  myself  to  eat; 
gently  she  chided  me.  Then  I  broke  down  utterly 
and  the  meal  ended  right  there. 

How  I  carried  through  a  citation  of  it  all,  I  re- 
member not,  but  well  I  know  that  she  would  not 
bear  me  corroboration  in  my  individual  opinions  of 
the  case,  and  vehemently,  though  tearfully,  declared 
the  guilt  of  the  boys.  And  I  refrained  from  speak- 
ing of  Long's  mysterious  strangers  and  the  queer 
transactions  in  connection  with  them.  Yet  I  made 


ONAWAGO  133 

it  a  point  to  acclaim  strongly  my  certainty  of  Bruce 
Long  being  underneath  the  whole  affair,  but  I  could 
wring  no  vow  from  her  of  such  belief,  although  I  had 
told  her  that  I  had  already  resolved  upon  privately 
ferreting  out  the  matter  and  promised  to  tell  her  all, 
even  to  the  most  minute  circumstance  within  my 
knowledge. 

At  length  our  discourse  closed,  and  together  we 
went  over  to  Arnold's.  We  found  all  depressed 
there  and  the  shadow  of  the  presence  of  death  upon 
the  household.  For  myself.  I  spoke  not  a  word  of 
solace  to  anyone,  for  I  was  in  no  mood  to  soothe. 

I  left  mother  there,  and  with  my  axe,  took  my- 
self to  work — my  self-imposed  work  of  splitting  pine 
slabs  for  the  rude  coffin  in  which  to  lay  to  rest  my 
paternal  friend.  I  went  out  into  the  woods  and 
felled  the  tree.  Straightway  I  began  my  toilsome 
and  tedious  task.  I  labored  the  entire  morning  with 
heavy  heart.  And  as  I  worked — 'twas  yet  early — 
I  saw  Bruce  Long  saddle  his  horse  and  ride  away  on 
the  road  to  Barterville.  Well  I  divined  what  his 
mission  might  be. 

During  the  slow  trend  of  the  morning,  one  by 
one  the  rough  boards  were  hewn  and  laid  aside  for 
planing,  so  that  when  the  dinner  hour  drew  nigh,  I 


134  ONAWAGO 

had  neared  the  completion  of  my  task.  During  the 
entire  morning  it  was  with  a  peculiar  sense  of  uneas- 
iness that  I  worked,  because,  strangely,  at  intervals  I 
experienced  the  uncanny  sensations  of  one  being 
watched.  And  therefore  I  kept  untiring  vigilance, 
striving  if  possible  to  learn  whom  this  unseen  trailer 
of  mine  might  be. 

I  was  working  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  not  far 
from  last  night's  tragic  scene.  Perhaps  these  self- 
same whereabouts  prompted  my  demure  medita- 
tions, for  I  brooded  heavily  upon  the  unpromising 
state  of  affairs,  until  at  times  I  became  scarce  alive  to 
my  present  self  and  surroundings— until  suddenly 
unwholesome  chilling  sensations  would  begin  to 
creep  along  my  cringing  spine  and  settle  at  the  base 
of  my  scalp.  My  hair  would  seem  to  rise  and  the 
roots  to  stiffen.  Then  I  would  rest  my  axe,  straighten 
up,  and  glance  apprehensively  about  me, 

At  the  insistence  of  one  of  these  monitions,  as  I 
glanced  about  me,  my  attention  became  attracted  by 
a  slight  disturbance  in  the  leaves  close  behind  me; 
I  wheeled  instantly,  just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
a  huge  timber  wolf  slinking  away  among  the  trees. 
I  rued  my  thoughtlessness  in  leaving  my  rifle  at 
home. 


ONAWAGO  135 

I  turned  again  to  my  work. 

Thenceforward  I  worked  undisturbed;  and  al- 
though I  kept  keen  vigilance  for  the  animal's  reap- 
pearance, nothing  occurred.  At  length,  the  sun  hav- 
ing climbed  to  its  meridian,  the  conch  sounded,  and 
I  started  homeward  for  dinner. 

But  scarce  had  I  gone  a  hundred  yards,  when 
behind  a  scrub  oak  on  the  margin  of  the  clearing,  I 
descried  the  huge  wolf  crouched  flat  upon  the  ground. 
I  stopped  and  looked  at  it.  The  head  seemed 
shrunken,  out  of  all  proportion;  its  crouching  pos- 
ture was  comically  grotesque;  its  limbs  were  absurdly 
large,  and  worst  of  all,  it  had  no  eyes  whatever — 
simply  two  cavities,  that  gave  it  a  loathsome  stare. 
But  as  I  looked,  from  back  within  the  depths  of  those 
eye-cavities,  I  caught  the  gleam  of  a  true  eye. 

I  was  close  upon  it.  And  while  I  paused  to  ob- 
serve it,  I  could  not  suppress  a  smile  at  such  a  gro- 
tesque ruse.  As  I  stood  there  the  thing  moved, 
slouched  forward  a  pace,  arose  on  all  fours,  stretched, 
and  suddenly  reared  onto  its  hinders,  a  creature  so 
strangely  horrible  that  I  could  not  but  recoil  before  it. 

Even  as  I  recoiled,  evincing  my  abhorrence,  I 
distinguished  a  guttural  laugh  from  beneath  the  skin, 


136  ONAWAGO 

whereat  the  skin  opened  its  length,  fell  back,  and 
from  its  disguise  stood  forth— Moccasin! 

His  bronzed  body  was  bare  above  the  waist.  His 
long  white  hair  was  braided  tight,  and  one  strand  fell 
across  his  naked  shoulder,  whose  muscular  linea- 
ments evinced  no  semblance  of  decrepitude.  His 
moccasins  of  deer-skin  came  up  well  over  his  ankles, 
being  bound  tightly  about  the  calves  with  thongs  of 
raw-hide.  In  all,  he  was  striking  in  appearance  as 
he  stood  there  disrobed  before  me,  quietly  laughing 
to  himself  at  my  discomfiture,  and  even  in  the  sur- 
prise of  the  moment,  I  could  but  admire  him. 

Quickly  his  mirth  vanished  and  a  strange  light 
came  to  his  dark  eye.  He  advanced  toward  me  with 
the  single  word,  "follow,"  upon  his  lips,  and  turning 
sidewise,  led  me  back  among  the  trees. 

I  kept  close  beside  him  and  as  he  walked, -he 
muttered  beneath  his  breath  that  strange  warning  he 
had  last  given  to  Martha:  'The  track  still  lies  in  the 
forest."  Besides  that  one  sentence,  he  remained 
silent.  It  was  some  distance  in  the  forest  that  he 
finally  brought  up  at  the  hollow  of  a  lightning-pros- 
trated tree.  He  reached  thereinto  and  grasping 
something,  drew  it  forth — the  self-same  one  I  had 


ONAWAGO  137 

one  night  seen  as  a  child — the  barrelless  flint-lock 
musket! 

He  haned  it  to  me,  and,  examining  it,  I  found  it 
had  been  recently  fired.  The  inside  of  the.  barrel 
was  yet  moist  with  the  undried  residuum  from  the 
powder. 

"Where  did  you  get  this,  Moccasin?"  I  inquired 
in  Pottawattamie. 

In  reply  he,  pointed  with  an  arm  off  toward  the 
quarter  whence  last  night's  tragedy. 

"A  son  of  the  great  warrior,  Chief  Topinabe,  does 
not  sleep  when  the  warpath  is  open.  Rather,  he 
prowles  the  woods  with  the  skulking  wolves,  and 
they  know  him  as  one  of  themselves.  But  the  time 
is  not  ripe  for  him  to  tell  what  he  has  seen.  'The 
track  still  lies  in  the  forest'." 

He  turned  quickly  from  me,  and  glided  nois- 
lessly  away  in  that  easy,  swinging  lope  peculiar  to 
his  people. 

Instantly  I  realized  that  I  held  in  my  hand  that 
which,  from  the  present  outlook  of  affairs,  might 
prove  invaluable,  should  matters  come  to  a  crisis, 
which  I  thought  they  surely  would.  Here  was  evi- 
dence. Here  was  something  worthy  of  consideration 
— a  thing  nevertheless  wrapt  in  mystery  and  scarce 


138  ONAWAGO 

explainable,  although  I  knew  full  well  from  whence 
it  came,  though  what  proof  I  might  produce  to  that 
effect  I  could  not  foresee.  Leastwise  I  would  treasure 
the  thing. 

After  Moccasin  left  me,  I  immediately  struck 
homeward,  and  followed  the  wooded  ravine  to 
where  the  road  from  Barterville  crossed  the  creek — 
the  same  place  of  my  strange  vision  of  Long's 
strangers  last  night  in  the  moonlight. 

Even  as  I  walked  along  the  corduroy,  Bruce 
Long  himself,  mounted  upon  his  spirited  animal 
brought  from  the  East,  galloped  down  from  the  op- 
posite slope  of  the  road. 

I  carried  the  flint-lock.  As  he  bore  down  upon 
me  at  goodly  speed,  I  noticed  him  start,  surprised, 
upon  the  recognition  of  it,  and  he  drew  up  close  be- 
fore me  and  spoke  imperiously : 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  doing  with  that  weap- 
on, young  Bundy?  Is  it  your  property? 

"No,"  I  answered  tersely,  "nor  is  it  yours." 

He  looked  at  me  contemptuously. 

"Then  I  presume  you  found  it  in  the  woods." 

"I  was  not  its  finder,"  I  announced  inanely. 
"But  I'll  manage  to  be  its  keeper." 

"I  advise  you  to  throw  it  away,"  he  answered 


ONAWAGO  139 

condescendingly.  "The  thing  possesses  an  evil 
charm.  It  will  bring  you  no  good.  Take  my  advice 
and  throw  it  away.  Throw  it  in  the  creek." 

"From  whence  you  will  at  once  fish  it  out,"  I 
retorted. 

"I  tell  you,  Bundy,  the  thing's  damned,"  he  con- 
tinued disregarding  my  retort.  "You  had  better  take 
my  advice.  Never  has  it  brought  a  man  good  since 
the  day  its  barrel  was  filed  off." 

"But  I  dare  say  it  served  a  woman,"  I  returned 
pointedly. 

"Of  course,  Bundy,  you  recognize  the  thing.  I'll 
wot  you  remember  it  well,  and  all  else  that  occurred 
upon  your  introducation  to  it.  I'm  full  sure  I  do 
myself.  But  you  scarce  may  know  from  whence  the 
thing  itself  first  came.  Mayhap  you've  heard  of  the 
siege  of  Detroit,  away  back  in  the  last  century. 
Well,  Bundy,  that  gun,  that  curst  thing  of  evil  charm 
there  in  your  hand,  belonged  to  no  other  than  the 
mighty  Pontiac  himself.  It  failed  him.  And  it  is 
curst,  damned  by  the  Otter  himself,  and  I  advise  you 
again  to  dispose  of  it  without  further  delay.  There 
are  more  reasons  than  one.  And  you'd  better  take 
my  word.  The  thing's  'bad  medicine'." 

He  rode  forward,  and  disappeared  over  the  brow 
of  the  road-cut  hill. 


140  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  WARNING 

T  BETOOK  myself  home  to  dinner.  But  before 
-*-  eating  I  fed  the  team,  and,  at  the  same  time,  hid 
the  musket  beneath  the  hay.  It  was  during  the  meal 
that  mother  mentioned  the  fact  that  Bruce  Long  had 
passed  and  shortly  afterward  repassed  the  house 
during  the  afternoon. 

I  told  her  I  had  met  him  in  the  ravine. 

"And  where  did  he  seem  to  be  going?"  I  in- 
quired, without  apparent  interest. 

"To  the  hills,"  she  answered. 

A  thought  was  mine. 

The  road  to  Barterville  had  terminus  at  our  very 
door.  No  further  extension  of  the  road,  or  in  fact, 
any  other  road,  penetrated  to  the  hills.  Solely 
might  he  reach  them  by  riding  through  the  woods. 
And  whyfore,  in  the  first  place,  should  he  go  the 
hills?  Here  rooted  my  quandary.  Furthermore, 
why  not,  if  possible,  find  out  his  mission  to  the  hills? 
Follow  the  hoof-prints  of  his  horse  and  thereby,  at 


ONAWAGO  141 

least,  discover  whither  he  had  gone.  This  I  deter- 
mined to  act  upon,  but  I  remained  silent  as  to  my 
intentions. 

Immediately  following  dinner  I  repaired  again  to 
my  labors  of  the  morning.  It  proved  but  mid-after- 
noon when  I,  completing  the  task,  went  over  home, 
took  the  team  and  hauled  the  rough  boards  home, 
in  order  to  construct  the  rude  coffin. 

It  was  while  I  was  hauling  them,  that,  as  I  passed 
Arnold's,  Bruce  Long  came  out  to  me. 

"I'm  sorry,  Bundy,  that  you've  put  yourself  to  all 
this  needless  inconvenience,"  and  he  indicated  con- 
temptuously the  boards  of  my  hewing.  "The  folks 
might  have  known  that  I  would  order  a  fitting  casket 
built  in  town,  and  have  told  you  as  much  instead  of 
submitting  to  your  generous  offer  of  constructing 
such  a  crude  thing  as  these  would  make.  But  I  as- 
sure you,  none  the  less,  that  we  appreciate  your  kind 
and  thoughtful  endeavors  in  our  behalf.  The  casket 
will  arrive  in  due  season  for  the  funeral  tomorrow 
afternoon.  I  presume  you  shall  come  to  the  funeral 
even  though  your  two  chums — your  two  accomplices 
— may  not  be  allowed  to  come.  They  were  arrested 
this  morning. 


142  GNAW  AGO 

I  was  scarce  surprised,  for  I  had  anticipated  the 
matter. 

"And  pray  why  not  myself  as  well  as  they?"  I 
demanded. 

"You  shall  undoubtedly,  sir,  be  included,  in 
time,"  he  admitted  suavely. 

"Mr.  Long,"  I  spoke  conciliatory,  "you  are  per- 
fectly aware  that  you  have  the  high  hand  in  this 
case,  and  that  as  yet  I  have  but  an  almost  groundless 
suspicion,  let  alone  any  proof.  But  I  dare  advise 
you  that  you  must  needs  stake  your  cards  high  and 
play  them  shrewdly,  lest,  the  will  itself  by  circum- 
stantial evidence  alone,  together  with  what  evidence 
I  shall  procure,  shall  thrust  this  crime  upon  your 
shoulders.  A  few  days  may  see  a  change  in  the 
state  of  affairs  from  what  they  are  now." 

A  smile  flitted  across  his  face  and  his  eye  kindled 
pleasantly. 

"Dave,"  he  said,  amiably,  "I  see  no  cause  for  ill- 
feeling  between  us.  We  lived  long  as  neighbors, 
years  ago,  and  I  have  come  again  to  be  your  neigh- 
bor. Moreover,  you  are  to  be  Martha's  husband, 
and  we,  in  a  sense,  are  related.  By-the-bye,  I  would 
like  to  make  you  a  proposition  respecting  this  case, 
a  proposition  advantageous  to  us  both.  Could  I 


ONAWAGO  143 

trust  you  to  forever  remain  silent  respecting  what  I 
shall  say?  Here,  I  have  purposely  brought  the  word 
of  God  with  me  for  this  very  occasion.  Do  you 
now  swear  to  heaven  upon  this  book  that  you  will 
consider  this  conference  never  to  be  revealed  either 
in  part  or  whole?  Do  you  vow  to  consider  it  invio- 
late?" 

"No,  sir,  I  do  not,"  I  asservated.  "I  see  no 
reason  for  such  sublime  action  on  your  part.  Further- 
more, Mr.  Long,  I  entertain  no  desire  to  deal  with 
you  in  any  way.  I  may  as  well  drive  on." 

"Dave,"  he  began  afresh,  as  though  reluctant  to 
allow  me  to  leave,  "through  your  folly,  then,  my 
proposal  comes  to  naught.  You  may  have  occasion 
to  rue  this  headstrong  action  of  yours,"  and  he  step- 
ped closer  and  rested  an  arm  upon  the  wagon  box. 
Still  he  was  his  indomitable  self,  dauntless,  expedient 
and  intriguing. 

"Dave,"  he  continued,  "do  you  remember  when 
you  were  still  a  boy,  that  one  dark,  stormy  night  you 
were  stolen  from  your  bed  and  conducted  you  knew 
not  whither?  Do  you  remember  an  old  woman 
that  night — an  old  Indian  woman — an  old  Indian 
medicine  doctor — old  Indian  Onawago?  Do  you 
remember  her  incantation,  in  which  the  words  she 


144  ONAWAGO 

taught  me  ran  in  part  thus:  'Mighty,  Marvelous, 
Mystic,  Magic,  Bloody,  Wierd,  Peculiar,  Tragic!" 

"Well,  Dave,  you  shall  soon  see  the  interpreta- 
tion of  these  words  unless  you  accede  to  my  propo- 
sition. No,  you  still  affirm?  Very  well,  then,  re- 
member one  thing— that  her  last  word  was  Tragic.' ' 

Thereupon,  Bruce  turned  brusquely  and  strode 
toward  the  Arnold  house. 

As  I  drove  the  remainder  of  my  way  home  I 
wondered  what  measures  Bruce  Long  would  now 
take — and  would  it  be  possible  for  me  to  compete 
with  him  and  frustrate  aught  that  he  might  contrive 
to  bring  against  the  boys  and  myself? 

What  had  been  his  game?  Was  it  to  delude  me 
by  his  parry  at  goodwill  with  a  thrust  at  friendship? 
— lure  my  private  convictions  from  me  and  then 
pounce  upon  me  by  clutching  the  situation  and  con- 
tradicting my  suppositions  and  knowledge  of  the 
case  by  some  trickery  capable  of  only  his  invention? 
As  I  unharnessed  the  team  and  stabled  them,  I  was 
thankful  I  had  revealed  nothing  to  anyone. 

Also,  I  determined  to  follow  Bruce's  trail  to  the 
hills  without  further  delay. 


ONAWAGO  145 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  "BIG  MEDICINE"  OF  TOPINABE. 

T  WENT  forthwith  to  the  house,  took  down  my 
•*•  old  flint-lock  and  powder-horn  from  the  wall, 
thrust  a  few  bullets  into  my  pocket,  called  Luxor, 
and  together  we  started,  first,  to  find,  if  possible, 
Moccasin. 

Over  by  the  lake  I  went  to  Moccasin's  lodge,  but 
did  not  find  him.  Thence  down  the  heavily  wooded 
ravine  of  the  drainage  creek  I  strolled,  amid  the 
dreamy  semi-twilight  that  perpetually  reigned  there 
in  dusky  languor  underneath  the  dense  foliage  of  the 
hardwood  forest.  I  could  not  help  but  loiter,  care- 
less and  carefree,  for  it  was  the  time  of  aught  but  the 
hush  and  calm  of  the  woodland  solitude,  October's 
blessed  calm,  the  only  perfect  calm  of  earth.  My 
distracted  spirits  imbibed  this  calm,  and  for  nigh  an 
hour,  we  loitered,  old  Luxor  thrashing  sportively  in 
advance,  nosing  and  alert  in  expectancy  of  some 
forest  denizen.  But  nothing  gave  him  chase. 

At    length  we    came  to  the  confluence  of  the 


146  ONAWAGO 

two  streams  from  the  twin  lakes,  where  they  join 
shortly  above  the  beaver  dam.  It  was  sandy  in  the 
stream's  bed  at  the  junction,  the  sand  having  washed 
in  during  the  spring  freshets  and  collected  there, 
forming  a  bar  several  yards  in  breadth. 

'Twas  here  at  the  junction  that  I  found  a  seat  up- 
on a  wind-fallen  log.  Old  Luxor  crouched  close  by 
my  side,  his  nose  resting  between  his  stretched  paws, 
his  large  hazel-brown  eyes  ever  open  and  watchful. 
His  ear-stubs  twitched  upon  any  slight  wood's  dis- 
turbance, and  his  nostrils  inhaled  and  exhaled  the 
aroma  of  the  forest. 

Close  before  us  the  creek  swept  sluggishly  along. 
Its  flow  so  sluggish  that  scarce  a  babble  it  voiced  ex- 
cept where  it  curled  about  some  obstructions  of 
brush-growth  or  log.  From  shortly  down  its  course 
drifted  the  distance-drowned  droning  of  water 
where  it  hurtled  over  the  beaver  dam.  While  faint- 
ly, the  silvery,  bell-like  twinkle  of  a  little  spring 
as  it  trickled  down  from  the  hillside,  softly  sang  in 
the  stillness. 

Heavily  and  with  drowsy  dullness,  the  muffled 
drumming  of  a  grouse  throbbed  its  pulsations  which 
accelerated  rapidly  into  a  rolling  whirr.  Here  and 
there,  amid  the  autumnal  tawny-yellow  of  the  beech, 


ONAWAGO  147 

a  jay's  gay  plumage  would  flash,  while  his  shrill,  stri- 
dent jeer  would  answer  some  jabbering  brother,  both 
meanwhile  engaged,  like  ruthless  marauders,  in  dis- 
lodging the  beech-nut.  Now  and  then  the  lugubri- 
ous caw  of  a  crow  would  jar  with  nerve  grating  dis- 
sonance upon  the  placid  quietude;  while  the  mur- 
muring discourse  of  innumberable  creepers  varied 
with  the  occasional  sweetness  from  the  bubbling 
throat  of  a  warbler,  afforded  constant  music  to  me, 
the  listener  and  lover  of  it  all. 

Suddenly  old  Luxor  growled.  I  reached  over 
and  laid  hold  of  him  to  keep  him  down.  A  moment 
more  and  I  beheld  the  object  of  his  mistrust.  It  was 
Moccasin. 

He  was  wading  amid-stream,  working  gradually 
toward  us  down  the  creek  from  the  farther  lake. 
His  powerful  stature  stopped  low;  his  eyes  scrutiniz- 
ed the  left  bank  of  the  stream.  I  commanded  Luxor 
to  be  quiet  and  sat  without  apprising  Moccasin  of  my 
whereabouts,  curious  to  know  the  cause  of  his  be- 
havior. As  usual,  in  the  warmer  months,  he  was 
stripped  of  all  except  the  waist-cloth  and  moccasins; 
even  these  latter  were  lacking,  perhaps  because  of 
his  wading. 

On   a  sudden  he  stooped  and  reaching  down, 


148  ONAWAGO 

pressed  his  fingers  into  some  indentation  in  the  leaf 
mold  of  the  creek-bank.  I  heard  him  mutter  low  to 
himself;  then  he  saw  me  watching  him. 

"What  is  it,  Moccasin?"  I  asked. 

In  answer  he  beckoned  with  silent  gesture.  I 
arose  and  went  over  to  him.  He  pointed  at  the 
ground.  Although  I  examined  closely,  I  discerned 
nothing  further  than  mere  leaf-mold  and  a  few  scat- 
tered newly  fallen  leaves.  I  said  as  much  to  Moc- 
casin, whereupon  he  motioned  for  me  to  follow  him 
to  the  afore  mentioned  sand  bar  at  the  conjunction 
of  the  two  currents.  There  I  saw  distinctly  in  the 
moist  sand,  prints  that  were  strangely  baffling — im- 
pressions the  size  of  a  large  bear  track — flat,  disk- 
shaped,  and  of  uniform  dimensions.  They  trailed 
close  upon  one  another,  and  it  was  plainly  obvious 
that  the  creature  of  these  marks  had  been  neither 
biped  nor  quadruped.  The  forward  prints  had  close 
beside  them  two  identical  others,  making  altogether 
four,  while  close  arear  were  two  other  prints — where- 
upon the  unknown  creature  of  this  sign  without 
doubt  walked  upon  six  feet! 

"The  Son  of  my  Brother  sees  before  him  'the 
track  that  lies  in  the  forest',"  solemnly  spoke  the 
Indian. 


ONAWAGO  149 

Withal  I  was  wholly  at  a  lose  to  account  for 
them.  Hitherto  I  had  been  prone  to  consider  light- 
ly Moccasin's  time  and  again  repeated  statement  that 
this  strange  track  was  in  the  forest.  I  had  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  frame  in  my  mind  its  origin.  But  now  I 
knew  my  recent  suppositions  completely  wrong. 
What  creature  of  earth  should  travel  with  such  a  sign 
as  this,  very  closely  resembling  wicker  work?  Be- 
sides, what  animal  of  the  northern  woods  was  invest- 
ed with  six  feet  and  travelled  in  a  gallop,  that  is,  half 
leaping,  half  running;— as  was  evidenced  by  the 
very  short  distance  between  these  track-series. 

I  puzzled  deeply,  as  I  stood  staring  abstractedly 
down  upon  that  strange  trail.  But  Moccasin  waited 
not  for  my  quadary  to  end.  Instead,  he  continued 
down-stream,  working  along  the  creek  bank  with  his 
instinctive  sixth  sense,  or  so  a  sixth  sense  it  seemed 
to  me,  for  on  my  part  I  might  distinguish  nothing 
where  he  could  practically  follow  without  the 
slighest  difficulty. 

I  endeavored  to  have  Luxor  follow  the  trail,  but 
without  success.  The  scent  was  cold.  And  after  a 
little,  Moccasin  having  gone  a  goodly  distance,  I  left 
the  sand  bar  and  accompanied  him  down  stream. 
We  halted  at  the  beaver  dam  while  Moccasin  at- 


150  ONAWAGO 

tended  several  snares  he  had  set  at  the  place.  A 
beaver  was  in  one  of  the  traps — the  trap  being  a 
primitive  one — bait  and  noose  affair,  contrived  so  as 
to  let  the  animal  seek  water  and  thereby  drown.  He 
took  the  beaver  from  the  trap  and  at  once  began  to 
skin  it  in  order  not  to  be  obliged  to  carry  the  weighty 
carcass.  While  thus  engaged,  I  questioned  him 
rather  sharply. 

"How  did  it  happen  that  you  were  with  Bruce 
Long  last  night,  Moccasin?"  I  asked  in  Potta- 
wattamie. 

He  answered  characteristically. 

"How  does  it  happen  that  the  Son  of  my  Brother 
today  is  on  the  path  of  the  unknown  when  a  Potta- 
watamie  also  is  upon  the  path  of  the  unknown?" 

"That  is  not  explaining  to  me  how  you  happened 
to  be  with  Bruce  Long,"  I  returned. 

"In  the  same  way  it  happened  that  a  Pottawatamie 
last  night  was  on  the  path  of  a  deer.  So  it  happened 
that  a  paleface  from  the  city  was  upon  the  same  path. 
The  three  of  them  talked  while  they  waited  the  com- 
of  the  deer.  While  they  waited  suddenly  they  heard 
voices — voices  which  they  knew — voices  which  were 
distasteful  to  the  one  paleface  who  is  now  dead.  He 
went  from  the  Pottawatamie  and  the  paleface  from 


ONAWAGO  151 

the  city,  to  where  the  voices  sounded.  The  war  song 
of  my  Brother's  dog  grew  louder  and  louder.  The 
Pottawatamie  and  the  paleface  from  the  city  heard  a 
gun  speak — then  followed  the  speaking  of  another 
gun.  The  Son  of  my  Brother  himself  saw  what 
followed." 

"Then  I  take  it  for  truth  that  you  yourself  was 
with  Bruce  Long  when  Tom  was  shot.  Did  Bruce 
have  a  gun  with  him?" 

"If  the  paleface  from  the  city  had  possessed  a  gun 
there  would  have  been  no  prisoners  taken." 

"You  mean  that  he  would  have  killed  Dick  and 
Jean  ?  I  doubt  not  the  same  result.  But  'tis  a 
wonder  to  me  he  had  not  some  weapon  upon  his 
person.  I  remember  he  usually  carried  a  pistol  when 
a  boy." 

"There  was  but  one  paleface  rifle  that  spoke," 
continued  the  Indian.  "The  other  half  was  pistol." 

"I  know,"  I  added.  "Did  Bruce,  so  far  as  you 
could  see,  Moccasin,  show  any  sign  that  he  expected 
this  thing  to  occur?" 

"Does  the  rock  show  when  it  is  to  burst?— or  the 
tree  show  when  it  is  to  fall?"  he  answered,  with  quiet 
reserve.  Neither  do  they  who  dwell  within  the 


152  ONAWAGO 

great  cities  of  the  paleface  show  that  which  they 
think." 

"But  even  so,  Moccasin,  do  you  not  think  that 
Long  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  business?" 

"The  palefaces  of  the  cities  are  serpents;  their 
tongues  are  forked;  they  strike  when  not  seen;  they 
glide  noiselessly  to  where  they  go;  no  eye  traces 
their  path,  nor  sees  them  hid  among  the  leaves  and 
grasses;  no  one  may  learn  their  ways;  no  one  can 
tell  where  they  may  next  coil,  and  their  bite  is 
death." 

"You  think,  I  dare  say,  even  as  I  do.  But  what 
else  do  you  know,  Moccasin?  Have  you  ferreted 
out  anything  further  since  last  night?  I'll  warrant 
you  did  not  play  the  wolf  today  for  nothing." 

Heretofore  he  had  answered  me  while  busied 
with  his  fur.  But  having  now  finished  his  task,  he 
arose  from  his  knees,  the  pelt  in  his  left  hand,  my 
knife  which  he  had  borrowed  for  the  occasion,  in  the 
other.  And  upon  my  questioning,  he  drew  himself 
proudly  to  his  full  height,  facing  me,  out-held  the 
beaver  skin  on  his  left  arm  while  with  the  knife  still 
bloody  with  the  skinning,  aloft  in  his  right,  he  ad- 
dressed me  solemly,  speaking  loudly  though  slowly 
and  with  grave  emphasis: 


ONAWAGO  153 

"The  Son  of  my  Brother  needs  a  medicine.  He 
needs  it  very  much.  He  needs  it  that  harm  may  not 
come  to  him.  The  beaver  is  the  wisest  of  the  Great 
Manitou's  many  children.  The  beaver's  spirit  is  the 
biggest  medicine  of  all.  The  Son  of  my  Brother 
needs  the  spirit  of  the  beaver.  It  shall  be  his.  So 
sayeth  Shakwaukskuk,  the  son  of  Topinabe.  It  shall 
be  so." 


154  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  COMPACT  WITH  MOCCASIN. 

A  N  hour  later,  Moccasin  and  I,  together,  stood 
*~*-  beside  the  creek  where  it  left  the  open  timber 
and  slunk  away,  as  it  were,  into  the  dark  seclusion  of 
Indian  Hollow,  whose  low-growing  entanglement  of 
vegetation  constituted  a  veritable  barrier  to  our  further 
progress.  The  soft  ground  at  our  feet  was  trampled 
with  hoof-prints,  where  a  horse  unmistakably  had 
been  tethered  to  a  sycamore  sapling  that  grew  on  the 
creek's  bank.  Also  there  were  human  footprints — 
prints  of  moccasined  feet  and  prints  from  a  sole  and 
heel. 

Bruce,  'twas  self-evident,  had  left  his  horse  here 
this  morning,  and  proceeded  on  foot  into  the  hol- 
low, although,  forsooth,  I  could  not  discover  a  path 
by  which  he  could  have  entered.  It  was  a  certainty 
that  one  would  be  obliged  to  carve  a  passage  through 
that  tangle  of  vines  and  ivies  that  twisted  themselves 
throughout  the  density  of  summack,  buttonwood, 
alders  and  spice-brush,  with  occasionally  a  patch  of 


ONAWAGO  155 

the  well-nigh  impassable  elbow-brush  blocking  one's 
way. 

"Well,  Moccasin,"  I  said,  in  no  gentle  tone,  "I'm 
heartily  sorry  that  you're  a  coward,  for  only  a  cow- 
ard would  refuse  to  follow  these  men's  track  into  the 
undergrowth.  Had  I  but  the  gift  such  as  you  have, 
of  tracking  where  a  white  man  cannot  see  any  evi- 
dence whatever  of  a  trail,  I  warrant  you,  I'd  hesitate 
not  an  instant  to  follow  these  men  wherever  it  is  that 
they  may  go." 

"The  Son  of  my  Brother  brags,"  returned  the 
Indian,  softly,  in  his  quiet  reserve.  "He  is  not  wise 
with  many  moons.  His  hair  is  not  white  with  many 
snows.  He  has  not  lived  to  see  the  power  of  his  peo- 
ple swept  before  the  blasts  of  paleface  greed.  He 
has  not  seen  them  plentiful  as  the  deer  of  the  woods 
—then  seen  them  scattered  to  the  land  of  the  sunset. 
He  has  not  listened  to  his  fathers  tell  him  how 
they  drove  the  hateful  Miamas  from  this  land  of  the 
disputed  hunting  ground  in  order  to  live  upon  it 
themselves.  He  brags,  but  because  he  has  not  heard 
the  voice  of  Manitou's  thunder.  The  wise  race  of 
Pottawattamies  have  angered  the  Great  Spirit.  He 
no  longer  looks  upon  them  with  pleasure.  He  turns 
his  face  from  their  dances.  He  does  not  smile  upon 


156  ONAWAGO 

their  sacrifices.  He  saves  them  not  from  their  ene- 
mies. Even  the  Miama  dogs  themselves  find  more 
favor  in  his  power  than  do  the  brave  warriors  of  the 
once  warlike  and  numerous  Pottawattamies.  When 
a  Miama  speaks  the  Great  Spirit  hears  his  voice. 
When  a  Pottawattamie  speaks  his  ears  are  closed. 
The  son  of  my  Brother  brags;  but  he  is  not  a  Potta- 
wattamie. He  brags;  but  the  medicines  of  the  pale- 
face are  not  the  medicines  of  the  red  man.  He  brags 
that  he  would  go  into  the  hollow.  Let  him  go  if  he 
will.  The  spirits  of  the  Miamas  may  not  see  him. 
But  a  Pottawattamie  must  follow  the  ways  of  his 
medicine.  A  Pottawattamie  may  not  go  into  the 
hollow.  Should  he  go,  he  would  never  return. 
The  Son  of  my  Brother  is  not  of  the  forgotten  race 
of  Pottawattamies.  He  brags  that  he  would  go  into 
the  hollow.  Then  let  him  go!" 

"  'Tis  certain  that  I  am  not  versed  in  the  mysteries 
and  superstitions  of  your  people,  Moccasin.  And 
what's  more,  I  have  mighty  little  use  for  them. 
Father  believed  in  them  more  or  less,  but  I  do  not. 
As  for  there  being  ghosts  in  the  gulley  between 
these  hills,  it's  all  folderol.  But  even  so,  we  can  fix 
this  matter  between  us,  that  is,  if  you  are  willing  to 
perform  your  share  in  the  undertaking.  Here  is  the 


ONAWAGO  157 

very  spot  for  one  of  us  to  watch  by  day  and  the 
other  by  night.  You  have  almost  the  sight  of  an 
owl,  Moccasin,  and  'twould  perchance  be  best  for 
you  to  watch  by  night.  Or  even  to  mount  the  top 
of  the  big  hill  above  us,  might  prove  of  advantage. 
There  is  more  than  a  little  which  we  might  learn 
thus,  Moccasin.  What  say  you  of  the  plan?" 

"Can  the  eye  see  the  wind  as  it  blows?"  de- 
manded the  red-skin  with  grave  profundity.  "Can 
the  wind  hear  the  wings  of  a  flying  owl?  Can  the 
hand  feel  the  passing  of  a  shadow?  Then  neither 
can  the  Son  of  my  Brother  know  when  that  which 
the  eye  cannot  see,  which  the  ear  cannot  hear  and 
which  the  hand  cannot  feel,  shall  pass  him  by." 

"Anyway,  redskin,"  I  ventured,  slightly  pro- 
voked, "I'm  going  to  watch  if  need  be  by  day  and 
night.  Luxor  here  will  stay  with  me  and  I  see  no 
cause  for  fear  so  long  as  the  priming  is  dry  in  this 
pan.  Were  you  not  so  filled  with  the  superstition 
of  your  tribe,  I  well  believe  we  might  make  a  dis- 
covery worth  our  while  among  the  jungles  of  the 
gulch.  'Tis  my  opinion  there's  more  in  there  than 
either  of  us  gained  the  slightest  inkling  of.  And  it  is 
certain,  had  I  your  gift  of  tracking,  I'd  explore  with- 
out delay.  But  as  it  is,  all  I  can  do  is  to  wait  and 


158  ONAWAGO 

watch,  which  promises  no  easy  task,  nor  pleasant. 
And  I  sure  do  wish  that  you  would  join  me,  Moc- 
casin." 

"The  Son  of  my  Brother  is  no  coward.  His 
heart  is  brave  like  the  heart  of  a  Pottawatamie,  al- 
though he  is  not  a  red  man.  The  medicines  of  the 
palefaces  cannot  save  him  from  the  medicines  of  the 
the  red  man.  Some  of  the  red  men's  medicines  are 
good;  some  are  bad;  some  are  very  bad.  But  the 
medicines  of  Topinabe  are  good.  And  they  are 
big.  The  Son  of  my  Brother  needs  a  medicine.  He 
needs  it  very  much.  And  it  must  be  big.  He  needs 
the  spirit  of  the  beaver.  And  it  shall  be  his." 

Whereupon,  even  ere  I  realized  his  intention 
and  could  remonstrate  or  detain  him,  he  abruptly 
turned  from  me,  his  lithe  figure  glided  noiselessly 
away  into  the  timber  which  we  had  traversed  on  our 
way  hither.  I  stood  and  watched  him  depart,  a  sense 
of  loneliness  and  isolation  stealing  upon  me.  What 
of  importance  so  depressed  the  mind  of  the  Indian? 
— what  was  it  that  caused  him  to  address  me  consec- 
utively with  such  concern? — why  could  he  speak  so 
earnestly  and  repeatedly  of  "medicines" — these  were 
the  thoughts  which  rankled  in  my  disquieted  imag- 
ination as  I  stood  alone  with  Luxor  at  the  mouth  of 


ONAWAGO  159 

Indian  Hollow  and  debated  with  myself  what  course 
to  pursue. 

Slung  across  his  forearm,  Moccasin  carried  the 
beaver's  pelt.  I  knew  not  his  intentions  concerning 
its  disposal  in  my  behalf. 

Then  while  I  stood  there  revolving  in  my  mind 
Moccasin's  peculiar  conduct,  undecided  whether  to 
heed  his  admonitions  or  hazard  my  own  project  of 
waiting  and  watching,  I  determined  upon  neither 
course.  Why  not  explore  the  Hollow  myself? 


160  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  LAUGH  IN  THE  AIR. 

T  STOOD  upon  the  mountain.  An  half  hour  had 
-••  passed  since  my  parting  with  Moccasin.  An  half 
hour  during  which  I  had  found  it  futile  to  attempt  penet- 
rating the  jungle-like  growth  of  Indian  Hollow.  I  had 
thereupon  returned  to  my  former  decision  of  waiting 
and  watching  the  development  of  affairs.  But  even 
as  I  had  been  engaged  in  constructing  a  rude  sort  of 
ambuscade  in  which  to  secret  myself  and  Luxor,  I 
had  bethought  me  that  a  reconnoiter  from  the  moun- 
tain top  might  perchance  prove  advantageous. 
Therefore,  I  climbed  the  mountain  and  gazed  out 
over  the  panorama  of  the  surrounding  country. 

Since  my  interview  with  Bruce  Long,  which  had 
been  near  mid-afternoon,  the  remainder  of  the  after- 
noon had  sped  swifty  by.  It  was  now  near  sunset. 
Low  in  the  west,  the  sinking  sun  hovered  above  the 
broad  margin  of  the  lake.  The  mighty  watery 
expanse  beneath  it  lay  lifeless  like  a  sea  of  heavy 
paint — lead  colored — streaked  with  scintillating 


ONAWAGO  161 

threads  of  luminous  silver.  The  whole  might  well 
have  been  some  limitless  mirror  for  aught  of  blemish 
or  wrinkle  upon  its  lifeless  face.  Yet  it  reposed 
ominous,  darkly  forbidding,  boding  evil  to  come. 
For  annually  during  the  term  of  Indian  Summer, 
thus  old  Michigan  lies,  with  not  a  breath  of  air  to 
brush  a  ripple  upon  his  glassy  sheen.  Though  now 
this  Saturday  of  late  October,  the  halcyon  tide  was 
nearing  its  close,  and  the  nebulous  sky  above,  flooded 
with  the  yellow  glare  of  the  sinking  sun,  itself  prog- 
nosticated gathering  storm. 

Over  all  an  intense  silence  prevailed.  Not  the 
faintest  whisper  of  air  stirred.  Only  the  plaintive 
cry  of  a  solitary  night-hawk,  high  in  the  burning 
ether,  broke  the  almost  deathlike  stillness. 

On  my  either  side  the  lesser  dunes  rose  bold  and 
gray,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  blackly  reared 
against  the  fiery  background  like  huge  giants  in  re- 
pose, long,  undulating,  uniform.  Between  and 
around  their  huge  bulks  wound  the  valleys,  traceable 
solely  by  their  duskier  gloom.  While  deepest,  dark- 
est of  them  all,  down  directly  beneath  me  and  to 
one  side,  girting  half  the  mountain  with  its  glossy 
solitude,  lay  Indian  Hollow.  And  I  wondered  as  I 
stood  there  gazing  down  into  its  darkling  retirement, 


162  ONAWAGO 

as  it  lay  several  hundreds  of  feet  beneath  me,  would 
the  ghosts  dare  cry  tonight ! 

Beneath  me  to  landward  stretched  the  darksome 
forest,  lost  in  the  distance  with  the  continuation  of 
itself.  Two  clearings  alone  cut  their  small  areas 
amidst  its  ranks — our  own  homestead  and  Arnold's. 
Twin  Lakes  gleamed  from  out  the  somber  verdure, 
and  I  could  trace  the  tortuous  depressions  of  the 
creek,  winding  its  way  to  the  base  of  this  great  moun- 
tain. I  wondered  what  secrets  it  might  divulge  were 
it  gifted  with  the  power  of  speech. 

Low  above  the  forest  and  close  above  the  eastern 
horizon  stood  the  colorless  ghost  of  the  full  moon. 
And  even  as  I  looked  at  her,  it  seemed  she  assumed 
a  more  sallow  tinge.  I  was  thankful  to  her.  With 
her  assistance  alone,  might  I  watch  and  wait  the  de- 
velopments of  affairs  down  there  at  the  mouth  of 
the  hollow,  ambushed.  But  first,  I  must  get  me 
home  and  perform  my  daily  routine  of  chores  be- 
fore I  might  take  up  my  lonely  vigil.  My  recon- 
noiter  from  the  mountain  top  had  awarded  me 
nothing.  It  was  growing  late  and  darkness  was  close 
at  hand.  I  would  go  without  further  delay,  and 
thereafter  prepare  for  my  sleepless  night. 

I  spoke  to  Luxor  to  heel,  turned  to  descend  the 


ONAWAGO  163 

precipitous  sand-slide  of  the  landward  slope,  when 
I  whirled  about,  startled,  and  gazed  lakeward.  From 
the  beach,  evidently,  a  laugh  had  arisen  softly  upon 
the  listening  silences.  And  even  as  I  wheeled  about, 
gliding  out  upon  the  narrow  breadth  of  water,  rend- 
ered visible  by  the  Gap  of  Indian  Hollow,  where  the 
Hollow  opened  on  the  lake,— across  this  narrow 
breadth  of  waters,  glided  a  birch  bark  canoe.  It 
held  two  men.  Quick  as  it  appeared,  it  as  quickly 
flitted  from  sight,  and  only  the  few  receding  ripples 
of  the  paddles  evidenced  its  having  been  other  than 
illusion. 

I  was  for  the  moment  amazed,  then  exultant. 
Perchance  even  this  might  prove  a  source  to  the 
clue  I  sought. 

Forthwith,  I  was  mindless  of  Indian  Hollow  and 
its  uncouth  legends,  mindless  of  Bruce  Long's  in- 
trigue, mindless  of  my  neglected  chores,  mindless  of 
aught  but  to  reach  with  all  possible  speed  the  lake 
shore  and  spy  upon  these  men,  whoever  they  might 
be.  I  doubted  not  they  were  Long's  strangers.  I 
tarried  not  an  instant,  and  with  Luxor  near  by, 
bolted  down  the  lakeward  slope  of  the  mountain, 
following  its  gradual  declivity  to  where  it  abruptly 
terminated  in  a  low,  frowning  bluff  of  blue  clay 


164  ONAWAGO 

fronting  on  the  beach.  It  took  but  several  minutes 
before  I  was  ensconced  behind  a  convenient  bush 
growing  upon  the  brow  of  this  low  bluff. 

The  long,  white  strand  of  shore  fell  away  on 
either  hand,  tenantless.  The  Great  Lake,  sullen  in 
its  dark  repose,  stretched  in  its  infinite  vastness  away 
before  me,  also  tenantless.  My  quarry  had  escaped. 

The  sun  had  set  these  several  minutes  since  and 
his  strong  radiance  now  leaped  upward  from  behind 
the  black  line  of  the  lake,  tawning  to  a  brilliant 
orange  the  entire  western  sky  that  in  turn  cast  a  feeble 
glimmer  of  uncertain  light  back  upon  the  lake  and 
hills.  While  shimmering  in  this  reflected  glow  from 
the  heavens,  shortly  out  from  shore,  a  serpentine 
wake  twisted  across  the  placid  surface— the  trail  of 
the  birch  canoe.  And  to  my  surprise  it  lay  turned 
upon  its  side  directly  before  me  some  yards  back 
from  the  water's  edge. 

No  sooner  did  I  espy  it  than  I  sprang  down  the 
face  of  the  low  bluff  and  over  to  it.  Two  paddles 
were  underneath  it,  nothing  more.  Hereupon  my 
quest  of  a  clue  had  come  to  naught.  Of  course, 
there  were  moccasined  footprints  in  the  sand,  but  as 
for  their  worth,  had  not  there  been  moccasined  foot- 
prints where  Bruce  Long  had  tethered  his  horse?— 


ONAWAGO  165 

prints  that  led  into  the  veritable  jungle  of  the  Hol- 
low.   Thus  far,  then  I  had  gained  nothing. 

I  turned  about,  faced  the  gap  of  Indian  Hollow, 
and,  dreading  to  enter  its  gloom-wrapped  recesses  in 
pursuance  of  my  quest,  I  hesitated  for  the  moment, 
my  courage  daunted.  A  vague  uneasiness  lay  hold 
upon  me;  but  mustering  my  will  power  and  deter- 
mination, I  pushed  resolutely  forward  to  the  brink 
of  the  creek  where  its  waters  sank  into  the  sand. 
But  here  I  paused  again,  not  through  lack  of  courage 
this  time,  but  because,  I  half  believed,  I  heard 
something.  For  a  moment  I  listened,  my  every 
faculty  acutely  intense.  Then  my  doubts  were  sud- 
denly confirmed.  A  low  rushing  sound  like  the 
tremulo  of  fluttering  wings  was  above  me  in  the  air; 
the  silken  rustle  of  migrating  birds  or  water-fowl, 
methought.  I  glanced  up,  then  around,  but  descried 
nothing.  It  continued  several  moments  thus,  con- 
stantly growing  louder.  Yet  still  I  failed  to  descry 
from  whence  the  sound  came.  Then  suddenly 
louder  and  louder,  like  a  wind  rising  on  a  stormy 
night,  the  sound  bore  down  upon  me,  seeming  to  is- 
sue from  the  air,  from  the  lake,  from  the  earth  and 
revolve  about  me  in  circles,  in  sweeps  and  in  dashes, 


166  ONAWAGO 

swelling,  then  in  turn,  diminishing  in  undulating  vari- 
ation. 

A  cold,  calmy  sensation  crept  over  me.  A 
dread,  hysterical  oppression  settled  upon  my  heart. 
Perspiration  broke  out  upon  my  hands  and  brows. 
My  breathing  seemed  forcibly  stiffled.  And  through- 
out it  all  I  strove  against  myself  to  summon  my  flag- 
ging courage  and  presence  of  mind.  I  braved  my- 
self in  expectancy  of  momentary  danger.  But  even 
while  I  braved  myself,  even  while  I  strove  to  quell 
my  rising  apprehensions,  Luxor  ran  forward  casting 
himself  prone  upon  the  sand,  threw  back  his  sleek 
heard  and  thrusting  his  nose  upward,  gave  vent  to  a 
series  of  long  drawn,  lugubrious  howls  that  sobbed 
away  into  the  listening  silences  of  Indian  Hollow  in 
wierd  and  plaintive  cadences.  During  the  moment 
I  remembered  an  ancient  superstition,  that  when 
under  no  provocation  a  dog  howls,  some  one  is  soon 
to  die. 

Then  mingling  with  his  howling  and  in  extact 
unison,  an  aerial  laugh  came  and  hovered  about  me, 
taunting  and  exultant  with  racuous  derision.  Slowly 
it  broke  from  its  low  tone  to  a  maniacal  wail,  and 
thence  to  a  wild  shout  as  if  summoning  someone 
from  a  distance. 


ONAWAGO  167 

A  travail  of  fear  shook  within  my  breast.  I 
trembled,  my  nerves  were  utterly  beyond  my  con- 
trol. My  heart  fluttered  wildly  in  my  throat,  rebel- 
lious to  my  effort  to  revoke  its  panic. 

Then  suddenly  I  caught  the  dull  thud  of  a  foot- 
step close  behind  me.  I  turned  to  fall  senseless  from 
a  heavy  blow. 


168  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  X. 
LUXOR. 

T  TlGH  pitched  ringing  sounded  in  my  ears.  My 
-*•  •*•  brain  swam;  my  mind  was  vacant;  and  I  seemed 
to  float  through  interminable  darkness.  I  stirred 
from  a  cramped  position  and  lay  easier.  Thence  I 
lay  for  a  long  time  striving  vainly  to  recall  my  shat- 
tered memory — but  my  mind  was  as  blank  as  a  cloud- 
less sky. 

By  degrees  the  ringing  in  my  ears  abated.  Slowly, 
I  began  distinguishing  a  dim  glimmer  of  light,  a  faint 
ruddy  glow  that  penetrated  and  partly  subdued  the 
gloom  about  me.  Again  I  moved,  endeavoring  to 
sit  up,  but  my  brain  reeled  and  I  fainted  at  the  ex- 
ertion. Piercing  pains  darted  over  me  and  my  head 
throbbed  to  seeming  bursting.  Yet  I  was  cold  to 
chilling.  Uninterrupted  quiet  brooded  heavily  about 
me,  a  boon  in  itself,  and  I  gradually  commenced  to 
drowse  away.  I  was  in  a  sort  of  sub-conscious  slum- 
ber when  I  aroused  because  of  a  snap  like  unto  the 
exploding  of  a  coal  of  fire. 


I  tottered  over  to  the  fire  and  sank  to  my  knees.  — Page  175. 


ONAWAGO  169 

With  utmost  endeavor  and  difficulty  I  shifted  my- 
self half-about,  writhing  and  wrenching  my  bonds — 
for  I  found  myself  bound  hand  and  foot — and  turn- 
ing myself  on  my  side,  I  discovered  some  score  of 
feet  from  where  I  lay,  a  small  bed  of  coals  glowing 
feebly  from  amidst  gray  ashes.  They  emitted  suffici- 
ent light  with  which  to  ascertain  the  shadowy  out- 
lines of  encircling  shrubbery.  The  coals  glowed  in 
the  center  of  a  space — an  area  some  twenty  feet  in 
diameter  from  which  the  brush  growth  had  been 
cleared  and  the  brush  piled  against  the  surrounding 
barrier  of  verdant  shrubbery.  I  gazed  about  me,  my 
mind  gradually  cleared  of  its  bewilderment  and  after 
a  time  I  was  to  an  extent,  mentally,  myself  again, 

Gradually  I  comprehended  my  situation;  com- 
prehended my  absolute  helplessness — comprehended 
the  dire  fact  that  I  had  lost  out  completely  all  around, 
that  I  was  nothing  more  than  a  miserable  prisoner, 
in  whose  power,  I  might  only  guess.  And  as  the 
melancholy  truth  dawned  slowly  upon  me,  I  at  first 
was  angered,  then  frightened,  then  sick  at  heart. 
The  blackness  of  the  future  loomed  before  me 
colossal-like.  I  writhed  and  wrenched  at  my  bonds, 
enduring  madly  and  well  nigh  in  delirium  my  tor- 
turing conceptions.  Yet  at  length  I  prevailed  upon 


170  ONAWAGO 

myself  to  consider  rationally,  and  upon  considera- 
tion I  was  enthralled  with  amazement  and  an  agon- 
izing realization  that  upon  me  alone  hung  the  bal- 
ance of  the  entire  complication  of  affairs.  With  this 
realization,  I  was  seized  with  moody  inertia. 

The  boys,  without  my  aid,  were  to  a  surety 
doomed— doomed  to  a  horror  worse  than  the  tomb 
(for  they  do  not  hang  in  Michigan)  imprisonment 
for  life.  Mother  and  little  sister  Mary,  with  me  gone 
— gone  they  knew  not  where — were  destitute  and 
alone,  alone  and  destitute  in  an  unsettled  wilderness. 
And  Martha — I  studied  for  some  time  before  I  was 
able  to  see  her  dependence  upon  my  actions. 

Should  Bruce  succeed  in  convicting  the  boys, 
then  the  entire  estate  would  assuredly  come  into  his 
possession,  disputed  by  none.  I  questioned  myself 
if  I  thought  him  so  lenient  as  to  provide  for  Martha 
and  her  mother,  unless — unless — I  boiled  at  the  very 
thought,  unless  he  had  come  for  more  than — than 
the  mere  visit,  as  he  declared. 

In  troth,  the  summed  situation  was  demure  enough 
for  me  and  mine!  I  was  clad  in  my  habitual  cloth- 
ing; a  buck-skin  shirt,  homespun  trousers,  buck-skin 
leggings  and  moccasins  of  Moccasin's  handicraft.  I 
lifted  my  head  and  with  strained  composure,  glanced 


ONAWAGO  171 

down  at  my  side.  Yes  my  knife  was  gone,  sheath 
and  all.  My  trusty  old  rifle  was  nowhere  within 
sight.  My  beaver-fur  cap  was  not  upon  my  head. 
Instead  a  cold,  clammy  mass  pressed  there.  And  I 
knew  intutively  that  it  was  clotted  blood. 

My  heart  sank  with  despondency.  I  feared  for 
Luxor's  life.  For  when  I  had  received  the  blow 
that  had  rendered  me  senseless— lest  I  be  mistaken 
in  my  dog— he  had  sprung  upon  my  captor,  whereat 
the  cudgel  which  had  all  but  snatched  my  life,  surely 
would  have  proven  more  effective  in  his  case.  I 
hestitate  not  to  confess  that  I  broke  down  utterly, 
crediting  my  fears  in  true  light.  For  when  a  man 
looses  that  friend  enduring  unto  death,  be  it  mongrel 
or  pedigreed,  beautiful  or  ungainly,  the  deep  throb- 
ing  strings  of  nature's  grand  and  tender  harp  are 
touched,  sounding  a  chord  that  vibrates  never  but 
with  this  one  incentive. 

Melancholy,  lassitude  settled  upon  me,  irrevoc- 
able because  I  tried  to  shake  it  off  and  brace  up,  but 
I  was  instilled  with  a  dire  and  awful  understanding  of 
the  future,  black  unto  the  darkest  night.  The  inter- 
pretation of  those  strange  night  words  was  beginning 
to  evolve  beford  me.  I  recalled  Bruce  Long's  part- 
ing words — his  warning  that  I  should  soon  enough 


172  ONAWAGO 

know  their  meaning,  and  that  the  last  word  was 
'Tragic.'  Also  I  recalled  Moccasin's  evasion  of  my 
direct  questioning.  "The  palefaces  of  the  cities  are 
serpents  and  their  bite  is  death." 

He  had  intimated  Bruce  Long.  "And  their  bite 
is  death." 

Ah,  too  true! 

All  was  mystery.  I  prayed  that  it  might  chance 
be  but  the  incubus  of  an  overwrought  imagination 
preying  upon  me. 

Surely  I  had  slept,  for  slowly  I  became  aware  of 
some  one  addressing  me  by  name;  and  upon  regain- 
ing consciousness,  and  looking  up,  I  found  Bruce 
Long,  his  shapely  form  drawn  in  black  against  the 
wan  brilliancy  of  the  moon's  beams,  beside  me. 

"Here's  your  old  pup,"  he  said. 

Tied  to  a  long  deer-skin  strip,  and  held  by  one 
hand,  was  Luxor,  standing  close  at  Long's  side. 
Long  unleashed  him  and  the  noble  animal  bounded 
to  me  in  ecstacy,  crouched  upon  me  and  demon- 
strated his  gladness  until  I  was  compelled  to  com- 
mand him  to  "charge"  in  order  to  hear  Long's 
words. 

He  had  strode  over  to  the  fire.  With  his  cap  he 
was  fanning  the  embers,  striving  to  enliven  them  into 


ONAWAGO  173 

igniting  the  few  sticks  he  had  tossed  upon  them,  and 
at  the  same  time  talking  rapidly  as  though  he  had  no 
time  to  spare. 

"A  little  more  and  things  would  have  taken  a 
decided  turn  from  their  mapped  course.  By  sheer 
luck  I  stumbled  upon  them  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
Francois  was  in  the  very  act  of  putting  a  finish  to 
your  old  dog.  I  arrested  his  hand  even  as  he  forced 
the  trigger.  The  charge  went  wild.  'Twas  a  foolish 
deed  of  his  to  pull  a  gun  this  time  of  night  among 
these  hills  where  echoes  are  so  loud  and  lasting.  I 
fear  old  Moccasin  is  not  asleep  though  I  know  not 
whether  he  suspects  anything  as  to  me,  but  full  sure  I 
know  he  can  follow  a  trail  with  his  eyes  as  easily  as 
old  Luxor  with  his  nose.  And  but  for  his  belief  in 
these  ghosts,  he  tells  about,  infesting  the  hollow, — 
Miamas,  I  believe — he  would  have  unearthed  us 
long  since,  but  he  dreads  this  place  like  he  would  to 
meet  the  devil  himself,  and  I  guess  all  others  here- 
abouts are  not  far  behind  him  in  the  same  theories. 
This  wood  doesn't  want  to  burn  any  too  well.  At 
last  a  blaze!  Well,  I've  certainly  earned  it!" 

"Now,  Dave,  we'll  have  it  out  and  over  with  in 
short  order." 

He  laughed  and  turned  from  the  fire  to  me.    A 


174  ONAWAGO 

tiny  blaze  was  catching  among  the  faggots  and  be- 
ginning to  crackle  and  snap,  licking  upward  into  the 
breathless  night  air,  shedding  its  glare  about  the 
place  and  lighting  up  in  black  outline  the  admirable 
physique  of  Bruce  Long  as  he  stood  before  me. 

As  I  lay  there  gazing  up  at  him,  I  meditated  upon 
how  a  man  can  so  impregnate  his  conscience  with 
repeated  crushings  until  it  is  entirely  subjugated;  then 
with  inimical  intent,  face  composedly  the  one  against 
whom  he  has  premeditated  evil  without  betraying 
the  slightest  emotion  upon  his  external  demeanor. 
But  I  was  estimating  Bruce  Long  wrong. 

"I've  considerable  to  tell  you,  Dave.  It's  cold 
and  damp  over  there.  Here,  let  me  help  you  to 
the  fire,  where  we  can  talk  the  matter  over  more 
comfortably  and  I  hope,  come  to  an  agreement." 

With  his  characteristic  deliberation  he  came  over 
to  me,  unpocketing  his  penknife,  and,  kneeling  down 
beside  me,  cut  my  thongs  and  assisted  me  to  my  feet 
where  I  swayed  with  giddiness,  my  brain  reeling  un- 
stably. Then  Long  spoke  again. 

"You're  chilled.  Step  over  to  the  fire.  But  be- 
ware any  move  you  make.  Beware  at  your  peril. 
Understand!  I'll  not  trust  you  farther  than  I  must." 

He  fell  back  before  me,  pace  by  pace.    His  clean- 


ONAWAGO  175 

cut  features  glowered  darkly  severe.  In  his  right 
hand  he  twirled  carelessly  a  pistol.  And  he  walked 
about  the  fire  to  the  opposite  side  and  seated  him- 
self crossed-legged  upon  the  ground. 

Scarce  able  to  retain  my  equilibrium,  I  tottered 
over  to  the  fire  and  sank  to  my  knees  before  it, 
weak  and  exhausted,  a  sense  of  extreme  faintness 
coming  upon  me.  I  stretched  cold  and  benumbed 
hands  to  the  welcome  warmth  and  felt  gradually 
the  enlivening  vitality  mount  throughout  me.  My 
blood  began  coursing  wildly  through  my  veins. 
My  heart  pulsed  with  unaccountable  frenzy, — react- 
ion probably  after  my  recent  legarthy.  But  mean- 
while Long  had  discontinued  his  dialogue,  though 
he  continued  toying  with  his  pistol,  significantly,  so 
I  thought. 

I  can  see  him  once  again  as  he  sat  there  full 
within  the  fire-light,  gazing  into  the  glowing  embers, 
their  strong  glare  flashing  upward  into  his  handsome 
face,  a  smile  playing  about  his  mouth  that  suggested 
in  its  fixed  downward  curves,  repressed  bitterness. 
He  had  tossed  aside  his  cap,  and  his  wavy  hair, — a 
deep  rich  chestnut,  glossed  in  the  flashing  firelight 
with  a  lustre  that  I  have  never  found  in  any  but  his. 
A  solitary  ringlet  clung  tenaciously  over  his  left 


176  ONAWAGO 

temple  and  he  crushed  it  back  repeatedly  only  to 
have  it  persistently  settle  once  more  upon  his  brow. 
His  apparel  was  black  broadcloth.  His  shoes  were 
patents.  He  wore  a  linen  collar,  open  at  the  front, 
and  a  checkered  black  and  white  tie.  From  me  of 
the  backwoods  such  toggery  begot  reverence— a  bar- 
rier of  respect  for  their  wearer  that  I  seemed  bound 
in  honor  to  revere.  Ye  of  the  cities  may  not  un- 
derstand me,  but  ye  of  the  rural  districts  have  known 
this  self  same  reverence. 

Of  a  sudden  Long  glanced  over  at  me  and  his 
gray  eyes  had  lost  their  former  geniality,  now  re- 
placed by  a  cold,  steely  gleam  that  resided  in  their 
backmost  depths. 

"Well,  young  Bundy,  what  do  you  think  of  the 
situation?" 

"I'm  not  wasting  overmuch  with  terror,"  I  re- 
joined. 

He  smiled  strangely. 

"Pehaps  not.  But  how  like  you  the  prospect  of 
wasting  away  with  hunger — even  though  you  may 
overcome  your  terror?  Well,  to  be  bluntly  frank, 
that's  your  prospect— starvation!  Now  what  do  you 
think  of  the  situation?" 


ONAWAGO  177 

"A  man  doesn't  starve  in  an  hour,"  I  announced, 
sardonically. 

"But  he  does  in  weeks.  And  you're  on  the  high- 
road. Exercise,  of  course,  to  some  extent,  helps  a 
man  out,  but  its  mighty  little  exercise  a  man  gets 
bound  hand  and  foot  like  you  yourself  have  been, 
and  henceforth  shall  be.  I  don't  care  to  intimidate 
you,  only  I  thought  perchance  you  would  like  to 
know  the  situation.  Starvation  is  a  very  promising 
future  for  a  fellow,  you  know,  so  I  thought  I'd  just 
enlighten  you  that  you're  well  upon  the  highroad  of 
starvation.  Want  to  jog  on,  or  back  up — which?" 

"I  haven't  struck  anything  but  sand  so  far  upon 
your  metaphoric  road,  and,  of  course,  I'm  lodged  in 
the  rut  of  starvation,  but — what  of  it?" 

"Yes,  a  deep  rut— a  rut  with  a  mountain  of  sand 
on  one  side,  another  great  dune  opposite,  at  the 
farther  extremity  Lake  Michigan,  and  on  the  other, 
underbrush,  which,  unless  you  know  the  paths,  you 
can't  get  through.  Yes,  sir,  you're  in  a  deep  rut  and 
a  big  one,  the  best  rut  for  my  purpose  in  this  country, 
a  rut  which  I  doubt  if  white  man  other  than  myself 
has  hitherto  penetrated  outside  your  present  explo- 
ration. How  do  you  enjoy  exploring,  anyhow? 
No  cinch,  is  it?  Oh,  I  forgot!  You  did  explore  this 


178  ONAWAGO 

same  rut  once  when  a  kid.  Remember  the  night? 
Pleasant  reminiscence,  isn't  it?  Can't  you  imagine 
your  present  outlook's  rather  such— 'Mighty,  Mar- 
velous, Mystic,'  etc.?  But  I  won't  hector  you  with 
the  recitation  of  that  little  verse.  I  warrant  you  re- 
member it  all  well  enough.  But  its  musical  after  all. 
I  like  the  rhythm  and  the  meter,  but  best  of  all,  I  like 
the  theme!  The  theme  is  grand— to  me— and  sig- 
nificant, I  dare  say,  to  you.  Or  can  it  be  possible 
that  you've  forgotten  it? 

'Mighty,  Marvelous,  Mystic,  Magic, 
Bloody,  Weird,  Peculiar,  Tragic!" 
Then  his  voice  sank  lower,  identically  as  on  that 
other  night: 

"Mighty,  Marvelous,  Mystic,  Magic, 
Bloody!  Weird!  Peculiar!  Tragic!" 
Then  sank  to  a  sibilant  whisper: 

"Mighty,  Marvelous,  Mystic,  Magic, 
Bloody,  Weird,  Peculiar,  Tragic!" 
His  blue-gray  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  light.     A 
wiry  smile  drew  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth.    He 
shifted  the  pistol  to  his  other  hand  and  leaned  for- 
ward, gazing  intently  across  the  fire  at  me,  and  his 
whisper  scarce  bore  upon  the  silence  of  the  night. 
"And,  Dave,  there's  more  in  those   eight  words 


ONAWAGO  179 

than  you  dare  dream.  You're  only  beginning  to 
fathom  their  depths.  Fortunate  you'd  be  if  'twere 
that  you  could  help  but  fathom  them.  But  it  has 
been  ordained  otherwise — unless — unless  you  accede 
to  my  terms." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  I  interposed. 

"Of  course  you  don't.  I  didn't  expect  you 
would.  But  it's  simply  this:  the  three  years  stated 
in  the  will  expires  next  month.  Destiny,  with  a 
trifle  of  assistance  on  the  quiet  from  me,  has  made 
me  wealthy,  at  least  soon  to  be.  Now  look  here, 
Bundy;  you're  beastly  poor;  almost  to  poverty.  I'll 
be  rich  inside  of  a  month.  Now,  coming  straight  to 
the  question,  what  do  you  ask  to  keep  your  mouth 
shut  and  tell  nothing  you  may  know?" 

"I  consider  an  offer  to  that  effect  as  an  insult,  sir," 
I  replied  imperiously  and  with  some  heat. 

He  laughed  outright  and  heartily. 

"Gosh,  but  you've  a  wealth  of  blazon  independ- 
ence for  a  captive.  Perchance  you'll  change  your 
mind  upon  a  little  explanation  from  me." 

He  immediately  grew  serious — serious  almost  to 
severity. 

"Now,  look  here,  Bundy.  This  entire  situation 
lies  in  my  grasp.  I  intend  moulding  the  issue  to  suit 


180  ONAWAGO 

my  end.  You  alone  are  my  stumbling  block — the 
sole  obstacle  between  me  and  fortune,  and  you — 
faugh!  You're  so  easily  disposed  of  that  all  I  have 
to  do  is  to  do  nothing.  The  sparrow  cannot  free 
itself  from  the  talons  of  the  hawk.  Neither  can  you 
free  yourself  from  my  clutches.  In  other  words,  you 
are  but  the  wounded  sparrow,  I  the  hawk.  I  hold 
you  as  I  please  and  you  are  powerless,  sinking  slowly 
to  your  death — unless,  unless  you  accept  my  pro- 
posal." 

"As  it  is,  the  Breeds  swear  they  will  not  feed  you 
— that  if  I  will  have  you  here,  then  through  them 
you  shall  not  be  allowed  a  morsel  of  food  to  sustain 
your  hated  life.  Gladly  and  with  a  grin  would  they 
wring  your  neck,  and  only  through  my  intercessions 
will  they  not  prove  some  treachery  only  of  such  as 
they.  You  shall  lie  bound  both  hand  and  foot  and 
with  thongs  bound  none  too  loosely.  So  for  God's 
sake,  Dave,  think!  Think,  man,  think!  Imagine 
when  you  shall  be  lying  here  bound  and  helpless, 
starving  by  inches,— starving!— grating  your  teeth  in 
agony  and  gnawing  your  fingers  with  famine!  Hor- 
rible! Horrible!" 

I  sat  shuddering. 

Bruce  Long's  face  had  grown  mysterious.     His 


ONAWAGO  181 

eyes  were  lighted  with  a  strange  frenzy,  and  for  once 
lost  their  bluish  cast.  He  barely  breathed  his  words 
as  he  leaned  still  farther  forward,  gazing  intently 
with  his  cold  gray  eyes  across  the  fire  into  my  own. 
I  sat  as  one  frozen,  wordless,  listening  as  a  sentenced 
man  listens  to  the  reading  of  his  death  warrant.  I 
may  have  been  livid  with  horror.  An  icy  clutch 
seemed  upon  my  heart,  stifling  its  throbbing  pulsa- 
tions. And  in  my  nervous  and  weakened  state, 
with  sheer  rigor  I  overpowered  the  increasing  terror 
which  was  rendering  me  momentarily  more  lacking 
in  fortitude  with  which  to  combat  Long's  pressing 
determination  in  prosecution  of  his  offered  bribe. 

"Come,  Dave,  don't  play  the  fool.  I  seek  arbi- 
tration. Do  that  which  I  beseech  of  you  to  do  and 
live — live  long  and  independently  with  that  which 
I'll  gladly  give  you  instead  of  permitting  them  to 
take  your  life.  Name  your  price;  I'll  meet  it.  Make 
it  big,  if  you  will,  for  I  don't  want  your  blood  to  be 
spilled  through  your  own  folly.  That  last  word 
'tragic'  means  that  you  must  die — die  by  your 
own  hand — die  because  Onawago  has  so  spoken. 
Her  last  word  every  time  was  'tragic'  and  'tragic' 
it  shall  be  unless  you  name  your  price;  'tragic'  by 
means  of  yourself;  Starvation — starvation  because 


182  ONAWAGO 

you  refuse  my  terms  which  are  your  sole  means  of 
salvation  from  your  hideous  doom.  For  Dave,  you 
are  in  Onawago's  custody,  not  mine.  You  are  en- 
vined  by  her  black  magic.  'The  Eye'  is  never  off 
of  you.  Bundy,  you  are  a  doomed  man!  Her  last 
word  was  'Tragic.'  And  it  must  be  so — unless  you 
name  your  price.  Do  so,  man!  Don't  play  the 
fool!" 

Then  he  sat  and  gazed  across  at  me  some 
minutes  before  he  spoke  again. 

"I'm  the  fool  to  expect  you  to  trust  me,  though," 
he  said.  "How  the  deuce  I'm  going  to  make  good 
with  you,  I'd  like  to  know.  You  know  me  well 
enough,  perhaps  only  too  well,  but  maybe  not  in 
quite  the  right  light.  I'm  blamed  for  what  others 
have  done.  Until  now  another  has  done  the  bid- 
ding,—! have  obeyed.  But  the  tables  are  going  to 
turn.  I'm  going  to  give  a  few  orders  now!  And 
I'll  see  that  I'm  obeyed,  or,  by  God,  something  will 
have  to  break! 

He  arose,  stepped  over  to  the  edge  of  our  cleared 
space,  and  faced  the  mist-wrapped  gloom,  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated.  Then  shrill  and  clear,  he 
blew  a  prolonged  whistle  that  pierced  the  night  and 
sank  away  slowly  in  the  deathly  stillness.  He  waited 


ONAWAGO  183 

a  minute  or  two,  then  repeated  the  same  long  drawn 
lingering  note.  A  second  or  more  elapsed.  Then, 
wafted  through  the  silent  night,  came  in  answer,  a 
whistle  identical  to  his  own.  Thereupon  Bruce 
Long  wheeled  about  and  again  came  over  to  me. 

He  stood  gazing  down  into  the  fire  in  silence. 
There  was  a  contemplative  expression  on  his  face 
and  his  jaw  had  a  determined  set  to  it.  A  frown 
creased  between  his  eye  brows.  His  hands,  thrust 
behind  him,  still  toyed  with  the  pistol.  As  he  stood 
there,  I  wondered,  almost  feared,  what  this  pensive 
mood  of  his  might  bode. 

Luxor  broke  the  unpleasant  stress.  He  arose 
from  where  he  lay  strong  within  the  heat  and  stalk- 
ing over  outstretched  his  long,  lithe  form  along — be- 
side me,  his  nose  to  the  fire.  Whereupon  Bruce 
stepped  around  and  kneeling  beside  Luxor,  laid  his 
pistol  aside  with  careless  abandon,  methought,  and 
lifting  the  shapely,  tapering  nose  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  gazed  long  and  affectionately  into  Luxor's 
large,  lustrous,  brown  eyes.  In  reponse,  Luxor's 
tail  swayed  slowly  from  side  to  side.  With  sudden 
impulse  I  too  reached  over  and  rested  a  hand  tend- 
erly upon  my  old  hound.  Long  gazed  up  at  me, 
and  there  was  meaning  in  his  look  which  I  could  not 


184  ONAWAGO 

fathom.  But  well  I  knew  he  loved  that  dog  to  an 
extent  even  as  I  myself  did,  and,  as  he  lay  there  out- 
stretched between  us,  I  felt,  and,  perchance,  Long  felt 
also,  that  in  a  sense  he  was  a  connecting  link  of  our 
mutual  sympathies. 

Long  was  mumbling  in  a  low  monotone. 

"Lux,  good  old  dog,  'twas  well  for  us  all  that  I 
saved  you  when  I  did:  yes,  well  for  us  all."  Then 
he  ceased  speaking  audibly  and  I  distinguished  the 
final  sentence  merely  by  the  motion  of  his  lips. 
That  which  he  said  was: 

"Yes,  well  for  all  but  Her." 

I  knew  he  feared  to  speak  aloud  lest  he  be  over- 
heard by  others  than  myself. 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Long,"  I  cried  with 
sudden  impetuosity,  "tell  me  what  this  all  means." 

He  studied  me  with  a  bland  smile. 

"You'll  know  all  soon  enough,  Bundy,"  he  said. 


ONAWAGO  185 

CHAPTER  XL 
EMPTY-HANDED  RETRIBUTION. 

T  ONG  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  and  faced  the  gloom. 
••— '  A  crackling  in  the  brush  had  drawn  his  atten- 
tion. A  second  later  the  shadowy  form  of  a  large 
man  was  discernible  in  the  darkness,  urging  his  way 
through  the  thicket.  Then  as  he  stepped  forth  from 
the  skirting  brush  into  our  open  space,  he  paused, 
and  I  recognized  the  larger  of  the  two  breeds. 

He  was  of  powerful  brawn,  an  excellent  type  of 
physical  manhood.  He  stood  with  a  slouch  to  his 
shoulders;  though  he  exhibited  a  dignified  mien,  a 
suggestion  of  dogged  fearlessness,  almost  of  contempt, 
I  divined,  as  he  regarded  me  first,  then  Long,  with  a 
sullen  leer  upon  his  truculent  countenance — a  trucu- 
lence  that  I  myself  would  have  dreaded  to  goad 
further  than  occasion  demanded. 

"Francois,"  Long  addressed  him  with  his  usual 
domineering  manner  in  both  tone  and  bearing, 
"bring  some  meat  here  to  him,"  he  indicated  me 
with  a  lofty  gesture.  "And  don't  be  slow  about  it, 
either." 


186  ONAWAGO 

The  breed  made  not  a  sign  toward  obedience. 

Long  again  commanded  him,  even  more  sternly 
than  previously.  Then  casually,  he  reached  over 
and  picked  the  pistol  from  the  sand.  Simultaneously 
the  breed  placed  a  hand  to  his  hip  and  his  forefinger 
touched  and  caressed  the  hilt  of  his  belt-hung, 
sheathed  knife.  A  scowl  gathered  on  his  forehead 
and  forced  the  drooping,  shaggy  brows  low  over  his 
dark,  gleaming  eyes.  But  he  turned,  nevertheless, 
and,  forcing  his  passage  into  the  shrubbery,  ere  long 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom;  and  a  minute  or  two 
later  the  disturbance  occasioned  by  his  passage  into 
the  shrubbery  melted  also  into  silence. 

Long  turned  to  me  with  an  exultant  smile. 

"I  doubt  that  he  returns  though,"  he  said. 
"Could  scarce  blame  him  if  he  shouldn't.  But  I'll 
have  them  understand  that  I'm  boss  hereafter.  I'm 
going  to  rule  this  roost  to  suit  myself.  I've  knuckled 
to  others  plenty  long  enough.  Things  haven't  gone 
my  way  either.  I've  had  mighty  little  to  say  about 
affairs.  But  the  tables  are  turned  henceforth;  things 
shall  progress  differently  than  in  the  past;  my  author- 
ity shall  dominate.  I'll  stand  no  balks;  I'm  bound 
to  see  that  you're  fed — fed  a  day  or  two — until  you 
too  give  in  to  me.  But,  by  God,  if  you  don't  and 


ONAWAGO  187 

within  short  order,  I've  already  told  you  the  conse- 
quences. But  old  Luxor  here  must  not  starve- 
above  all  else  he  must  not  starve.  And,  Bundy,  I 
warn  you,  beware  that  no  harm  befalls  your  dog!" 

He  began  pacing  back  and  forth  before  the  fire, 
restlessly. 

"You're  in  no  condition  to  consider  rationally 
tonight,  Dave.  But  I  cannot  see  how  we  can  well 
wait  to  settle  this  matter.  Delay  will,  I  am  afraid, 
unstring  everything.  Bull-headedness  on  your  part 
will  be  your  own  downfall.  You  have  but  one  alter- 
native; to  accept  my  preferred  bribe,  or  else  accept 
no  bribe  and  simply  take  your  oath  to  keep  strictly 
dumb.  Yet,  I'd  almost  hate  to  trust  you — you,  or 
anybody  else  on  a  question  of  paramount  impor- 
tance such  as  this." 

"Delay,  I  say,  Dave,  will  wreck  everything.  To- 
night, your  mother  thinks  nothing  of  your  absence. 
By  tomorrow  noon  she  will  have  commenced  to 
worry  and  wonder  at  your  prolonged  stay.  You  ap- 
pear not  at  the  funeral  in  the  afternoon.  People 
look  askance  at  one  another.  They  shake  their 
heads  meaningly.  Whyfore  this  absence,  they  in- 
quire. Has  he  fled  justice?  Then  if  he  fled  to 
escape  justice,  the  boys  are  assuredly  guilty  of  crime 


188  ONAWAGO 

—and  you  were  a  third  party  involved,  only  more 
fortunate  than  they.  Consequently  they  will  bear 
the  full  extent  of  the  law.  And  my  work  will  be  a 
mere  nothing." 

"Tonight  your  mother  calmly  sleeps.  Tomorrow 
night  dire  terror  shall  have  filled  her  heart — a  terri- 
ble fear  and  an  awful  knowing  that  her  boy,  her  once 
beloved  son,  is  a  vile  criminal.  Tonight  she  sleeps. 
Tomorrow  night  at  this  time  she  will  not  sleep.  In- 
stead she  will  rave  with  madness." 

"And  Martha,  Dave,  Martha, — Martha  who  loves 
you  as  she  will  never  love  another — Martha  whom 
you  love  dearer  than  life  itself — Martha  will  believe 
to  her  grave  that  you— you  in  whom  she  places  ut- 
most, implicit  trust — she  will  believe  to  her  grave 
that  you  murdered  her  father — and  in  cold  blood." 

"And  all  this  time,  Dave,  as  a  result  of  your  head- 
strong foolhardiness,  you  shall  be  rotting  in  this 
place,  dying  or  already  dead.  For,  unless  you  ac- 
cede to  my  terms  I  shall  be  handicapped  in  ever 
liberating  you  from  her  clutches.  Her  clutches 
which  mean  ultimate  death." 

"But  why  scare  you  with  this  simple,  plain  truth, 
when  the  ghastly  supernatural  might  perchance 
suffice,  and  with  better  result?  But  no — some  future 


ONAWAGO  189 

period  will  serve,  and  mayhap  better  so — some  future 
date." 

He  whirled  unexpectedly  and  stood  over  me, 
almost  leering  in  his  attitude,  with  a  manner,  me- 
thought,  indicative  of  temporary  dementia. 

"Fie,  such  frivolity!  One  would  think  me  still  in 
kilts  to  hear  me  prate.  Why,  gash!  While  you  sit 
there  like  a  stoic,  I  prance  about  here  and  rave  as 
though  I  were  doomed  and  not  you!  Why,  Bundy, 
here  I  stand  cursing  my  luck,  when,  fellow,  it's  the 
richest  vein  man  ever  panned!  Luck!  Ha,  Luck! 
and  yet,  Bundy,  and  yet — " 

"Dave  Bundy!  I  swear  to  you  the  oath  of  a  des- 
perate man!  By  God!  If  it  were  in  my  power  to 
change  this  awful  truth  I  would  hesitate  not  an  in- 
stant. Gladly  would  I  die  to  see  at  this  moment  the 
state  of  affairs  as  they  existed  thirty-six  hours  ago. 
'Cause,  Dave,  'fore  God  I'm  innocent  of  his  blood! 
Heaven  knows  I  am!  These  hands  are  stainless  as 
your  own!  Think  ye,  man  that  I  slew  him?  Him 
who  found  me  and  nurtured  me,  cared  for  me  even 
as  he  would  have  cared  for  his  own — think  ye  that 
I  sought  his  life?  But  of  course  you  think  so — of 
course  you  do — and  why  not?  My  God!  My  God!" 

"How  I  wish  I  were  away  from  it!    How  I  would 


190  ONAWAGO 

to  God  I  might  undo  what  has  been  done!  Would 
that  I  never  had  been  led  into  it  by  Her!  Gads!  I 
hate  her!  Onawago,  hearest  thou?  Onawago, 
would  that  I  had  never  known  thee  or  thy  power! 
Hearest  what  I  say,  thou  Onawago?  Hearest  what 
I  say,  thou  hag!  thou  hag!  thou  witch!  Hearest  thou 
this  which  I  say?" 

He  paused.  His  voice  had  been  high  pitched 
and  full,  ringing  out  fully  within  the  small  enclosure 
and  bearing  away  into  the  gloomy  solitude.  For 
the  moment  succeeding  his  bold  rebuke,  an  intense, 
unsevered  silence  endured,  uncanny  and  unearthly 
in  its  over-wrought  restraint.  We  stared  into  each 
other's  eyes  in  fearful  expectancy  of  something, 
we  knew  not  what.  I  am  positive  by  the  strange  and 
indescribable  expression  of  Bruce  Long's  face  and 
the  wild,  haunted  look  that  shown  within  his  steel 
gray  eyes,  that  he  regretted  instantly  his  harsh  de- 
risive words. 

Suddenly  the  fire  snapped  loud  like  a  pistol  shot, 
and  simultaneously  a  wierd  melody  began  there- 
from, chanting  softly  and  in  a  tremor,  a  low  croon- 
ing song — a  wierd  Indian  melody  almost  without 
tune,  whose  doleful,  insensible  crooning  sounded 
upon  the  chill  night  air  like  the  dull  hum  of  droning 


GNAW  AGO  191 

insects.  Then  slowly  it  gave  way  to  a  wild  and 
hysterical  laugh  which  came  and  hovered  low  above 
the  fire;  then  retreated  into  the  farther  air  where 
gradually  it  travelled  and  diminished  in  the  distance, 
until  finally  it  had  all  but  subsided,  when  suddenly, 
back  within  the  Hollow,  an  eldritch  shriek  'pierced 
the  silence,  quivering  and  shivering  in  long  drawn, 
languishing  wails  of  distress.  And  magnifying  the 
terrible  effect  a  hundred  fold,  the  silent  hills  flung 
back  in  fiendish  mockery  every  accent,  every  quake 
of  the  horrid  strain,  every  whimper  of  the  maniacal 
wails.  The  spell  was  of  prolonged  duration,  but 
suddenly  it  was  supplanted  by  a  loud,  piercing  cry, 
that  burst  from  out  the  farthest  depths  of  the  Hol- 
low, and  penetrated  and  resounded  for  miles  down 
through  the  broken  quiet  of  the  hills.  But  it  stopped 
short,  and  the  reverberating  cadences  throbbed 
away  into  the  distance 

At  the  cry,  Bruce  Long  started  with  a  frightened, 
hunted  expression,  turned  from  me,  and  stood  gaz- 
ing into  the  shadowy  gloom  of  Indian  Hollow,  as 
though  momentarily  expecting  the  occurence  of 
something  horrifying  and  of  more  consequence  than 
tfie  cry  that  had  just  subsided  into  silence;  then  with 
pale  face  and  wiry  smile,  after  a  moment,  he  turned 


192  ONAWAGO 

and  spoke  to  me  low,  very  low,  so  low  I  could  barely 
hear: 

"Dave,  that  was  the  Cry!  And  I'll  tell  you  it's 
no  use,  it's  no  use!  She's  incorrigible." 

And  for  the  first  and  one  time  in  my  life  I  saw 
Bruce  Long  unnerved;  but  after  it  all  he  became  his 
erstwhile  samel  self  again.  For  several  minutes  he 
stood  staring  abstractedly  down  into  the  fire  before 
he  suddenly  braced  up  and  with  a  laugh  flung  his 
irksome  mood  aside  and  regained  his  former  equa- 
nimity. He  walked  over  to  the  encircling  brush- 
fence  and  breaking  off  several  branches  came  back 
and  cast  them  upon  the  smouldering  embers. 

"Dave,"  he  said  blandy,  "your  head's  in  awful 
shape.  Your  hair's  all  matted  with  blood; "  and  he 
stepped  over  beside  me  and  I  could  almost  feel  a 
shade  of  pity  in  his  voice.  '  'Twasn't  any  gentle 
love  pat  they  gave  you  to  knock  a  gash  in  your 
scalp  like  that.  How  they  helped  getting  your  skull 
I  cannot  see.  But  I  don't  believe  there's  any  frac- 
ture or  you'd  be  clean  to  the  bad.  Suppose  you 
could  stand  a  walk  to  the  creek?  It's  only  a  few 
steps.  I  could  bathe  your  head  then.  It's  suicide 
for  you  to  stay  in  this  awful  shape — suicide  for  your- 
self and  murder  for  me.  Come!  Try!  Get  up! 


ONAWAGO  193 

Here,  I'll  help  you!  Gash,  you're  weak!  The  devil 
knows  how  you're  alive,  I  don't.  But  I'm  blamed 
sure  I'm  glad  you  are,  'cause  I  don't  believe  you're 
going  to  play  the  fool  Dave,  after  you've  had  time 
to  reflect  upon  the  case  at  your  leisure." 

He  reached  down  and  grasping  me  by  the  arm, 
literally  dragged  me  to  my  feet,  and  not  relinquish- 
ing his  grasp,  all  but  hauled  me  along  into  the 
thicket.  'Twas  all  I  could  do  to  follow.  It  required 
every  iota  of  the  strength  I  could  muster  to  tear  and 
stumble  through  the  tangled  vegetation.  Yet  with 
the  violent  exercise  I  found  my  nerves  quieting,  my 
strength  returning  and  my  recently  apathetic  men- 
tality reviving.  My  throat  was  dry  with  a  burning 
thrist  that  increased  constantly,  and  every  slap  of  a 
twig  in  my  face  smarted  grievously.  Once  I  coughed, 
a  dry  hacking  cough,  and  as  I  did  so,  Bruce  turned 
upon  me  half  angrily,  yet  in  a  whisper. 

"Hush,  Dave,  hush!  The  very  leaves  have  ears 
tonight.  Make  not  a  sound  lest  we  both  rue  it.  I 
doubt  not  that  the  breeds  lurk  hereabouts,  though 
mayhap  I  may  be  mistaken  in  them!  But  I  warn 
you,  Dave,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  warn  you  to  fore- 
bear betraying  our  movements.  Henceforth  under 
no  condition,  under  no  provocation,  make  one 


194  ONAWAGO 

sound  while  we  are  absent  from  the  fire.  For  if 
they  suspect  my  befriending  you  then — well — the 
fight  shall  be  all  yours." 

As  he  breathed,  rather  than  said  this,  he  handed 
me  a  pocket  flask.  I  drained  its  every  drop,  craving 
more.  The  crude,  home-brewed  peach  brandy  was 
all  but  nauseating,  yet  it  was  drink,  and  drink  I  was 
dying  for.  The  beverage  stimulated  me  a  trifle,  and 
the  blandness  of  Long's  smile  tended  to  urge  me  on, 
for  in  it  I  detected  a  vague  degree  of  commiseration 
as  he  gazed  deep  into  my  eyes.  I  felt  to  the  fullness 
that  on  him,  in  truth,  hung  both  my  life  and  the 
fortunes  of  those  I  loved.  As  we  plodded  onward 
through  the  brush,  I  marveled  and  meditated  upon 
the  strangeness  of  it  all. 

We  at  length  came  to  the  creek,  a  bend  that 
swept  to  the  left,  its  over-hung  vegetation  obscuring 
the  water  from  view  until  we  had  crawled  beneath 
the  bushes  where  I  rested  on  my  hands  and  knees, 
while  Bruce  immediately  began  sponging  my  head 
with  his  handkerchief.  The  coldness  of  the  water  on 
my  face  and  head  soothed  and  eased  me  almost  to 
drowsiness,  and  I  all  but  revelled  in  the  pleasantness 
of  Long's  touch,  as  he  streamed  the  icy  trickles  over 


ONAWAGO  195 

my  enfevered  nape  and  let  them  drip  from  my  face 
and  hair. 

"Dave,  this  wound  is  bordering  on  seriousness. 
It's  a  bloody  and  a  bad  mess,  at  the  least.  I'm  afraid 
of  inflammation  setting  in.  And,  gash,  man,  if  it 
should,  your  chances  would  be  mighty  thin  and 
scarce.  Fact  is,  boy,  your  chances  are  mighty  slim, 
anyway.  Yet  there's  no  denying  that  I've  placed 
myself  on  rather  precarious  grounds.  I  stand  on  no 
enviable  soil  at  this  moment.  The  price  is  more 
than  the  dirt.  Wish  I  might  even  give  it  away.  But 
I've  bought;  I've  got  to  hang  on.  But  the  crop  on 
such  soil  rarely  thrives.  Lord  knows  I  wish  I  hadn't 
come  west.  And  yet,  Dave,  there's  no  use  despair- 
ing, after  all.  You'll  not  play  the  dunce;  I'm  posi- 
tive you  won't.  Because,  Dave,  if  you'll  only  help 
me  harvest  (you've  already  helped  me  plant)  and 
work  the  thing  on  shares,  man,  everything  will  be 
O.  K.  Come,  man,  let's  settle  this  thing  right  off. 
You  need  attention— need  it  bad;  and  you  ought  to 
to  be  home.  What  think  you,  Bundy?  Come, 
man,  don't  balk  any  longer." 

I  made  him  no  answer,  and  he  waited  a  moment 
for  one,  whereupon  he  grew  petulant. 

"You're  a  fool  to    sulk,    Bundy.     God    knows, 


196  ONAWAGO 

everything  is  my  way — everything,  boy,  everything! 
You,  everyone,  everything!  Don't  sulk;  there's  no 
use.  Why,  Dave,  do  you  believe  you  have  the 
shadow  of  a  chance?  I,  alone,  hold  this  affair — hold 
you,  the  boys  and  the  Arnolds.  Why,  as  for  you, 
you  are  out  of  the  game  entirely.  The  Arnolds  are 
mine;  you're  mine;  Dick  and  Jean  are  mine;  the 
breeds  are  mine — even  Onawago — and — and  Martha; 
even  Martha's  mine.  Dave,  even  Martha!"  and  he 
fairly  shouted  with  exultation. 

My  heart  grew  frigid  within  me.  My  head 
swirled,  blank  void  before  my  eyes.  Oh,  God!  was 
I  loser  even  in  this? 

"She's  no  equal  east;  gad,  there's  no  equal  to  her 
anywhere!  Her's  is  the  beauty  that  takes.  Wait  till 
she's  among  the  fair  ones  of  the  city;  she'll  beat  them 
all.  Rank  outrage  for  her  to  'waste  her  sweetness  on 
the  desert  air,'  he  said,  half  quoting.  Tea,  flower 
born  to  blush  unseen,'  that  is  she.  But  she's  to  be 
mine,  Dave,  she's  to  be  mine!  Because,  boy,  I  love 
her!  And,  damned  if  you  shall  stand  in  the  way!" 

I  crouched  lower.  Dire  desperation  surged 
through  me.  'Twas  a  bold  stroke,  yet  in  my  inebri- 
ation of  despair  and  helplessness  I  ventured. 

Bruce   leaned   above   me,   slightly  over  me  and 


ONAWAGO  197 

stooped  low  at  the  water's  edge.  With  suddenness  I 
wrenched  myself  sidewise,  shoving  my  entire  weight 
low  down  and  against  him.  I  heard  him  catch  his 
breath  in  surprise  as  with  violent  impact  I  lunged 
against  him.  I  felt  him  topple,  grasping  an  over- 
hanging branch  with  one  hand  and  clutching  at  me 
with  the  other.  It  seems  to  me  today  that  Provi- 
dence lent  me  momentary  vigor  as  I  arose  to  my 
feet,  though  with  poor  stability,  and  broke  into  the 
copice  with  no  mean  gait  for  one  in  my  condition. 
I  heard  Bruce  splash  heavily  into  the  water  behind 
me. 

I  proceeded  slowly  and  with  stealth,  husbanding 
my  strength  as  the  need  might  be.  In  what  direction 
I  went  I  cared  not,  for  what  with  the  night  mists,  the 
density  of  the  coverts,  my  brain  reeling  with  exertion 
and  ravaged  with  fever,  my  legs  weak  beneath  me, 
and  a  cold  sweat  clammy  upon  me,  it  mattered  not, 
so  it  seemed,  whither  I  stumbled.  Anywhere  but 
here  would  suffice.  Liberty  lay  in  whatsoever  di- 
rection I  might  escape;  that  liberty  which  held  so 
much  in  store  for  many  beside  myself.  But  before  I 
had  gone  to  my  satisfaction,  which  was  no  goodly 
distance  as  yet,  I  found  my  strength  flagging,  where- 
upon I  made  to  secrete  myself  beneath  some  shelter 


198  ONAWAGO 

for  the  time.  With  a  sense  of  utter  exhaustion  I  en- 
sconced myself  beneath  a  bush,  careless  of  my  where- 
abouts, and  cast  myself  prone  upon  the  ground, 
leaning  on  my  elbows,  my  face  resting  in  my  palms. 
As  I  crouched,  gazing  straight  forward  underneath 
the  branches  of  dwarfed  trees  and  bushes,  suddenly 
I  shrank  close  to  the  earth,  an  extreme  faintness 
came  over  me,  and  with  horror  I  shuddered  at  what 
I  beheld. 


ONAWAGO  199 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  VISION  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT. 


foliage  of  the  shrubs  and  trees  enclosing  a 
small  space  some  several  yards  away  was  tinged 
with  the  ruddy  glow  of  firelight.  In  the  center  of 
this  space,  suspended  from  four  interlapped  poles, 
hung  a  smoke  begrimed  kettle,  earthen  pottery  of 
primitive  Indian  make.  Beneath  it  burned  a  small 
fire  from  which  black  pitch  smoke  ascended  steadily 
and  dissolved  in  the  night  air;  while  its  ruddy  light 
rendered  a  tawny  semi-indistinct  obscurity  about  the 
place.  Gleaming  and  glittering  from  out  this  gloom, 
virulent  and  terrible,  a  large  human  eye  was  glaring 
straight  and  steadfastly  down  upon  me,  the  pupil  and 
iris  jet  black,  the  ball  heavily  bloodshot.  The  fire- 
light playing  upon  the  red  veins  gave  an  unwhole- 
some expression  and  the  gleam  of  the  black  pupil 
was  as  of  life  and  artfully  cunning.  As  I  gazed,  awe- 
stricken,  spellbound,  and  fearful,  my  sight  became 
slowly  accustomed  to  the  wierd  half-light  of  the  place 
and  I  commenced  distinguishing  other  than  the  terri- 


200  ONAWAGO 

ble  eye;  for  gradually  assuming  shape  and  propor- 
tion, a  square  built  wigwam  stood  forth  in  the  gloom. 
Of  tanned  deer  skins  was  the  covering,  and  designs, 
for  the  most  part,  hieroglyphic,  were  confusedly 
stained  upon  the  leather.  The  one  of  greatest  prom- 
inence it  seemed  was  the  uncouth  eye,  and  of  more 
than  mere  prominence  for  true  to  life  and  savagery, 
it  gleamed  and  glared  full  upon  me.  I  lay  shudder- 
ing, fascinated. 

Directly  underneath  the  eye,  the  doorflap  was 
thrown  back  and  there  within,  filling  the  small  door- 
way with  her  uncouth  figure,  sat,  crouched,  Onawago. 

She  both  crouched  and  hunched  over  as  she  sat 
there  gazing  upward  at  she  moon.  A  bright,  scarlet 
blanket  wrapped  her  shoulders  and  her  coarse,  oiled 
hair,  black,  straight  and  long,  draggled  loosely  in 
scraggled  strands  upon  it,  glossing  in  the  firelight. 
One  naked  arm  reclined  upon  it,  the  skin-wrapped 
bones  terrible  with  emaciation.  Her  face  was  up- 
turned and  its  profile  was  outlined  markedly  against 
the  sheer  obscurity  of  the  wigwam's  interior.  The 
ghostly  moonlight,  striking  full,  added  pallor  to  her 
hideous  visage.  Her  high  cheek  bones  stood  forth 
in  bold  relief,  and  the  wrinkled  skin  that  covered 
them  was  closely  drawn  and  shiny.  Her  thin  lips 


ONAWAGO  201 

were  parted  and  behind  them  was  visible  the  jagged 
snag  of  one  discolored  tooth.  Her  black,  deep- 
socketed  eyes  reflected  the  light  and  glowed  with 
a  smouldering  fierceness  beneath  the  shaggy,  over- 
drooping  brows.  She  was  crooning  softly  to  herself 
as  she  sat  there  staring  upward  at  the  moon.  Her 
uncouth  body  swayed  back  and  forth  in  slow  and 
regular  time  to  the  rhythm  of  her  song.  'Twas  a 
wierd  Indian  melody,  and  the  melancholy  brooding 
music  impregnated  my  innermost  heart  with  an  awful 
and  dire  appallment.  I  gazed  upon  that  abhorrent 
countenance  upturned  and  ghastly  pale  in  the  moon- 
light, with  the  blood  in  my  veins  running  cold  and  a 
calmy  sweat  upon  me. 

As  I  gazed  upon  her,  terror  stricken  that  I  was, 
suddenly  her  eyes  left  their  fixed  stare  upon  the 
moon,  left  it,  and  dropped  to  the  bushes  shortly 
ahead  into  which  they  peered  as  though  able  to 
pierce  their  somber  verdure.  Then  slowly,  very 
slowly,  as  though  measuring  every  inch  of  the  way, 
her  uncouth  head  began  turning  in  my  direction,  a 
deathly  smile  upon  her  ghastly  face.  Then,  as  her 
eyes,  with  a  demonish  and  vicious  light,  neared 
'mine  and  met,  a  cold,  icy  thrill  ran  throughout  me. 


202  ONAWAGO 

An  icy  hand  seemed  to  grasp  my  heart  and  to  stiffle 
its  throbbing  beats;  and  I,  shuddering  uncontrollably, 
sank  full  upon  the  ground  and  with  palms  shielding 
my  face,  I  buried  it  into  the  white,  loose  sand,  shut- 
ting out  the  vision  of  those  villainous  eyes,  set  within 
that  ghastly  visage. 

Then  as  I  lay  there  inebriated  with  horror,  I  dis- 
tinguished a  movement  and  a  stirring  of  leaves  be- 
hind me  and  then  Bruce's  voice  close  to  my  ear  in  a 
whisper  to  me:  "You've  played  the  fool,  Dave." 
Then,— "I  must  speak  with  her."  And  he  left  me 
lying  there  face  downward  and  shuddering,  regard- 
less of  what  recourse  toward  escape  I  might  take 
— left  me  and  went  toward  Onawago. 

I  heard  nothing  thereafter.  I  sank  into  a  heavy 
stupor,  almost  oblivion,  dull  apathy  settling  upon 
me.  I  was  wholly  unaware  of  their  conference, 
until  at  length  I  distinguished  the  intonation  of  a 
strange,  indescribable  noise,  hollow  and  racuous, 
grating  the  silence,  until  without  warning  it  broke 
into  that  taunting  laugh  so  often  heard  before;  and 
the  next  moment  Bruce  Long  seized  me  roughly  by 
the  shoulder  and  forcibly  raised  me  to  my  feet. 
Whereupon  I  glanced  at  him  flushed  with  anger  and 


ONAWAGO  203 

his  face  set  with  determination.  He  wheeled  about 
brusquely  and  strode  rapidly  away  through  the 
brush,  bidding  me  follow.  And  in  following  I  cast 
one  glanced  behind. 


204  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  "MEDICINE"  OF  THE  EYE. 

O  EEMINGLY,  without  the  least  difficulty,  in  this 
^  labyrinth  of  thicket,  Long  discovered  a  narrow 
winding  path — a  trail  worn  by  the  straight  forward 
impress  of  the  Indian  toe.  Pursuing  its  course,  after 
the  lapse  of  a  few  moments,  we  reached  our  lately 
abandoned  fire. 

It  had  been  rekindled  and  was  blazing  brightly, 
lighting  up  the  small  brush-embraced  area  to  the  easy 
discernment  of  all  within.  Luxor  lay  outstretched 
before  it,  nor  did  he  arise  at  our  coming,  simply  tap- 
ped the  earth  lightly  with  his  long  tail  and  lay  gazing 
at  me  with  his  lustrous  brown  eyes.  Back  from  the 
fire,  seated  close  to  the  brush  edge,  beholding  us 
with  ominous  rancor  and  in  silence,  malignant  and 
sullen,  cross-legged  sat  the  two  breeds,  Francois  and 
the  other. 

Ignoring  their  presence,  Long  consulted  his 
watch. 


ONAWAGO  205 

"Ah,  'tis  late— past  two.  I'd  best  be  going.  As 
it  is,  I  am  compelled  to  steal  from  the  house  and 
have  to  use  some  little  strategy  in  doing  so  for 
should  Martha  or  her  mother  detect  my  absence  I 
would  find  myself  in  rather  an  uncomfortable  situa- 
tion, coining  credulous  excuses  therefor.  And  it's  no 
child's  play  nor  pleasant,  this  coming  away  over 
here  among  these  dunes  in  the  dead  of  night. 
When  a  kid  I  didn't  mind  it  overmuch,  but  it's  hard 
to  inure  myself  to  these  nightly  escapades  without  a 
twinge  of  apprehension  and  some  dread  in  them  as 
to  what  may,  perchance,  be  their  outcome.  And  to 
a  certainly  I  wouldn't  chase  over  to  this  hated  place 
again  by  night,  if  it  weren't  for  you,  Dave.  Blast 
such  luck!  There's  sure  going  to  be  a  shift  around 
here.  I  found  that  out  a  few  minutes  ago.  The 
prospect  is  black,  Dave.  Francois!  and  he  whirled 
unexpectedly  and  faced  the  breeds.  "Look  here, 
you!  Where  is  the  meat?" 

Undisguised  rancor  seamed  the  face  of  Francois. 
And  he  made  as  though  to  answer,  but  instead  he 
deliberately  reached  behind  him  and  bringing  it 
forth  tossed  an  ample  hunk  of  vension  over  to  Bruce 
Long,  where  it  rolled  in  the  dirt  at  his  feet. 

Long's  face  flushed  angrily.    He  sprang  forward  a 


206  ONAWAGO 

pace.  Instantly  the  pistol  was  in  his  hand  and 
leveled. 

"Long!"    I  fairly  shrieked. 

The  gun  lowered. 

"Thanks,  Bundy!" 

He  turned  his  back  disdainfully  upon  the  Breeds. 
Then  reaching  over  he  lifted  the  meat  from  the 
ground,  a  coating  of  sand  heavy  upon  it. 

"This  is  a  rank  outrage,  Dave.  Such  foul  stuff  as 
this  you  shall  not  have.  Lux  will  though,— here, 
old  boy!"  Luxor  arose,  stretched,  gaped,  and 
stalked  stiffly  over  to  Bruce  and  stood  waiting,  ex- 
pectantly. Long  began  shaving  the  dirty  meat  with 
his  pen  knife,  handing  the  scraps  one  by  one  to 
Luxor  who  devoured  them  ravenously  and  greedy 
for  more.  At  length  to  a  solid  chunk  Long  whittled 
the  meat,  when,  having  freed  it  from  the  clinging 
sand  and  amply  appeased  Luxor's  greed,  he  pro- 
duced a  slender  tapering  branch  and  spitting  the 
venison,  stirred  the  coals  in  order  to  roast  the  unap- 
petizing viand.  He  held  it  from  him  at  arm's  length 
over  the  coals. 

"Troth,  Dave,  this  isn't  promising!  But,  never- 
the  less,  you  have  to  eat  it.  There's  sustenance  in  it. 


ONAWAGO  207 

Here,  toast  it  yourself  a  minute  or  two,"  and  he 
thrust  the  stick  into  my  hand. 

"Look  here,  you  Indians,"  Long  growled,  'Til 
have  a  bed  built  for  this  fellow.  Go  bring  some  grass 
from  the  shore,  some  hemlock  boughs,  some  well 
dried  leaves,  or  something  suitable.  And  I  want  it 
done  without  any  grumbling,  and  done  in  a  hurry, 
or  by —  Get  up  there  and  move.  I'm  not  saying 
this  to  hear  my  voice.  Get  up,  I  say!  Hear  me?" 

Francois  sat  his  ground,  but  the  other  arose  and 
stood  looking  expectantly  at  Francois  to  do  the 
same. 

"That's  right,  Dominique.  You've  always  been 
a  good  fellow.  But  you,  Francois, — by  the  eternal, 
to  which  I'll  send  you  unless  you  obey!  Get  up 
there,  you  skulking  cur!" 

Francois  reluctantly  arose.  Long  still  stood 
threaetning  and  imperative. 

"Now  both  of  you  go  together  and  bring  back 
here  some  of  the  sandgrass  from  the  sand  mounds. 
'Twill  make  a  good  bed.  Or  you  can  cut  hemlock 
if  you  had  rather,  or  leaves,  or  anything  soft  and 
suitable  for  a  bed  for  this  sick  fellow  here.  He's  not 
going  to  be  allowed  to  die  until  I've  at  least  finished 
with  him.  And,  understand,  both  of  you,  that  you're 


208  ONAWAGO 

neither  one  of  you,  concerned  in  this  affair.  Un- 
derstand me?  This  affair  is  mine  and  is  no  concern 
of  yours.  Now  go  and  do  as  I  said." 

He,  meantime,  had  reached  into  his  trousers 
pocket  from  whence  he  brought  forth  two  silver  dol- 
lars. He  pitched  the  Breeds  each  one.  They 
silently  turned  and  departed  into  the  brush  upon 
their  mission,  without  a  syllable  of  dissention. 

Immediately  Long  huddled  close  to  the  fire, 
chilled  to  shivering  with  his  drenched  clothing. 

"I  came  mighty  near  shooting  one  of  those  dogs," 
he  mumbled. 

"But  your  priming  is  wet,"  I  observed. 

"Not  much,  Bundy.  Haven't  you  noticed  that 
this  gun  is  no  ordinary  pistol  of  the  old  type?  It's  a 
revolver— an  entirely  new  thing— a  very  late  inven- 
tion. But  of  course  you  haven't  as  yet  seen  one  be- 
fore, away  out  here  in  the  backwoods  of  Michigan. 
Back  east,  these  are  rapidly  taking  the  place  of  the 
percussion  locks,  which  are  good  enough  I  dare  say. 
See,  Dave,  it  doesn't  load  at  the  muzzle."  He 
handed  the  gun  over  to  me.  "No  clumsy,  awkward 
shooting-iron  like  our  old-style  arms.  These  are 
handy,  rapid,  and,  I  actually  believe,  that  in  time 
they  will  become  the  gun  mostly  used,  even  pehaps 


GNAW  AGO  209 

displace  our  trusty  muzzle  loaders,  though  that  would 
seem  almost  an  impossibility,  wouldn't  it?  What  a 
bunglesome  contraption  your  own  flintlock  is  along- 
side this  neat  weapon.  See,  it  loads  from  behind. 
These  things  here  are  the  loads;  cartridges  they  are 
called,  and  are  made  out  of  brass  tubing  and  filled 
with  explosive.  The  primer  is  in  the  rear  part, 
against  which  the  hammer  strikes  and  discharges. 
Just  see  how  implicitly  I  trust  you,  Bundy,  in  per- 
mitting you  to  handle  the  one  weapon  between  the 
two  of  us.  But,  gash,  man,  I'm  not  a  whit  scared  of 
your  rashness.  But  I'm  thankful  that  you  stopped 
me  in  my  own  headlong  rashness  but  a  moment 
since.  Why,  I'd  have  blown  that  filthy  lout  to  Hades 
in  half  a  second,  if  you  hadn't  yelled  at  me  just  when 
you  did.  And  I'm  glad  you  yelled,  Bundy.  I  don't 
want  to  be  any  man's  murderer.  I've  a  temper  that 
flashes  like  powder.  Seems  I'm  actually  crazed  for 
the  moment.  I'm  always  sorry  afterward.  I've 
enough  already,  God  knows,  to  be  sorry  over.  And 
yet — and  yet,  Dave,  I'm  not  wholly  to  blame,  God's 
fact,  I  ain't.  I  know  you  believe  that  I  am.  How 
dare  I  presume  to  expect  you  to  think  otherwise? 
But,  Dave,  before  God,  I  didn't  do  it— had  nothing 
to  do  with  it— hadn't  an  idea  of  such  a  thing  happen- 


110  ONAWAGO 

ing.  She  learned  of  the  hitches  in  the  will.  Tom's 
dead  because  she  did.  But  I  tell  you,  Bundy,  no  one 
mourns  more  than  I.  I  feel  that  I  am  the  whole 
root  of  the  matter — 'cause  he  found  me,  fostered  me, 
raised  me.  Glad  would  I  be  had  I  not  been  found 
that  night.  Better  by  far  that  he  had  flung  me  into 
the  waters  of  the  little  lake,  beat  my  baby  brains 
against  a  tree-trunk,  left  me  to  the  wolves,  starved 
me,  anything,  anything!  Anything  but  cared  for  me! 
How  I  wish  that  I  had  never  been  born — born  to 
this  life  of  mystery.  Why,  Dave,  boy,  God  alone 
knows  who  I  am,  what  I  am  or  where  I  came  from 
— God  alone,  besides  her.  She  knows  maybe, 
maybe  not;  I  often  wonder.  What  wouldn't  I  give 
to  know  the  truth— terrible  as  it  may  be.  Born  an 
outcast,  I've  lived  like  one.  Reclusion  seems  bred 
in  my  very  blood,  yet  I've  always  fought  against  it, 
and  I  can't  gainsay  that  I  haven't  in  a  way  battled 
successfully.  Can  you  blame  me,  man,  for  what  I've 
done?  Put  yourself  in  my  shoes— knowing  nothing 
of  yourself,  growing  up  wild  and  untrammeled  even 
as  some  pasture  weed,  influenced  never  for  good, 
despising  everyone,  despising  earth  and  nature,  des- 
pising even  yourself,  despising  our  Maker,  despis- 
ing everything.  Fate  spun  a  tangled  web  for  me. 


ONAWAGO  211 

I've  battled  and  striven  against  its  meshes,  and  to 
what  avail?  And  now,  I'm  discouraged,  Dave,  and 
disgusted.  Oh,  that  'twere  in  my  power  to  right 
matters.  But  I  can't,  and  that  ends  it.  Tis  done; 
'tis  over  with;  I'm  powerless.  Circumstances  will 
simply  have  to  follow  their  destined  courses.  I'd  be 
a  fool  to  sacrifice  everything  now  in  the  eleventh 
hour  solely  for  the  sake  of  two  country  loons.  Yet, 
really  Dave,  I'm  sorry  for  and  actually  pity  Dick 
and  Jean.  Poor  hoodlums!  They'll  be  sent  over 
the  road  for  a  plentiful  term.  But  what's  the  differ- 
ence? What  could  they  ever  become  away  off  here 
in  these  dreary  wildernesses?  What  benefit  could 
they  ever  be  to  the  world,  or  even  to  themselves  for 
all  that.  Such  ignorant,  unfortunate  beings  are 
naught  but  a  burden  unto  themselves.  Yet  I  suppose 
their  dogged  existences  are  sweet  to  them,  after  all. 
But  I  can't  help  it  now;  the  die  is  cast;  it  shall  end  as 
best  it  may.  I'm  going  to  quit  this  brooding.  Little 
more  at  this  rate  and  I'd  be  insane  with  melancholia 
— faugh  melancholia  when  everything  is  my  way! 
Idiotic,  isn't  it,  Dave? — Idiotic — yes  and  the  whole 
thing  is  idiotic.  This  affair,  my  life  even,  every- 
thing of  mine  has  always  proven  idiotic.  Lord, 


212  ONAWAGO 

what's  more  idiotic  than  this  here  damned  thing 
itself!" 

Surprised,  yet  intensely  fascinated,  I  watched 
Long  savagely  tear  away  his  necktie,  tear  open  his 
linen  collar,  and  from  about  his  neck  untwine  a 
small  delicate  gold  chain.  Something  odd  shaped 
dangled  from  it,  the  size  of  an  acorn. 

"I've  worn  this  curst  thing  incessantly  since  old 
enough  to  toddle.  The  thing's  charmed.  It's  a 
"medicine,"  Bundy — the  biggest  medicine  ever 
known.  Gad,  the  thing's  loathsome  and  detestable! 
Can  you  imagine  what  it  is,  Bundy?  I'll  bet  you 
can't.  Here  examine  it  closely.  See,  it's  all 
shrunken  and  out  of  shape!  Look  carefully  there 
now;  hold  it  near  the  fire  and  well  within  the  light. 
See  the  color  in  there— can't  you  see  the  color  of  a 
human  eye  there  on  that  side?  Can't  you  guess 
what  it  is?  Why,  Dave,  it's  a  human  eye! — Pon- 
tiac's!  She  has  the  other  herself.  Stole  them  from 
from  his  head  and  filled  up  the  cavities.  Stole  them 
while  chanting  over  his  corpse  down  on  the  Illinois, 
there  where  he  was  stabbed.  Surely  you've  heard 
the  tale— how  the  Pottawatamies  avenged  his  death 
at  'Starved  Rock' — how  they  drove  three  hundred 
Illinois  Indians,  among  whom  he  had  been  working, 


ONAWAGO  213 

when  that  dastardly,  British-bred  Shawanee  stabbed 
him  from  behind  while  he  harangued  them  in 
council;  drove  them  up  on  the  'Rock  of  St.  Louis' 
where  La  Salle  had  his  stronghold  for  so  many 
years  under  Tonty's  command,  and  there  starved 
them  to  death.  That's  why  it's  now  called  'Starved 
Rock'  instead  of  the  'Rock  of  St.  Louis'  as  La  Salle 
christened  it  when  he  built  the  fort  there.  Yes,  sir, 
that's  a  human  eye  and  was  once  in  the  magnificent 
head  of  Pontiac  himself.  Now,  nigh  a  century 
afterwards,  its  purpose  is  mere  'medicine' — the  big 
medicine,  the  biggest  known;  sacred,  charmed,  in- 
violate. Why,  Bundy,  that  thing's  my  guardian,  my 
protector,  my  mainstay  through  both  life  and 
death.  That's  what  an  Indian's  medicine  means  to 
him — his  all  in  all.  I'm  white,  but  I've  got  my 
'medicine'  all  the  same.  An  odd  trinket,  isn't  it, 
to  carry  around  one's  neck  through  life?  The  idiocy 
of  the  thing!  Lord!  I've  been  tempted  to  rid  my- 
self of  the  thing  a  hundred  times.  I  detest  the 
thing!  But  damme,  I  am  forced  to  carry  the  foul 
thing  through  life!" 

I  watched  him  replace  the  chain  and  its  strange 
charm  about  his  neck  and  we  sat  for  some  moments 
close  together  before  either  of  us  spoke  again. 


214  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
AN  UNFOLDING  OF  THE  NIGHT-MISTS. 

T  SAT  idly  fumbling  the  revolver,  toasting  the 
•*•  vension  with  my  left  hand.  And  the  first  word 
was  from  me.  "Don't  you  move!"  I  growled. 

He  started  at  the  change  in  my  voice,  and 
glanced  sidewise  at  me  to  gaze  into  the  hollow 
barrel  of  the  revolver  in  my  right  hand.  I  had 
dropped,  meanwhile,  the  toasting  stick. 

But  he  was  not  disconcerted  in  the  least. 

"Dave,  you're  false.  I'm  sorry.  You're  not 
one  to  meet  a  man  halfway.  I  expected  Francois  to 
play  me  foul,  but  hardly  thought  this  of  you.  I 
trusted  you  to  examine  the  weapon;  and  here  you 
take  advantage  of  me.  But  don't  for  one  moment 
think  that  I  am  scared  of  you.  You  wouldn't  pull 
the  trigger  for  your  life.  You're  all  bluff,  Dave;  as 
harmless  as  a  wind-blown  leaf.  Faugh!  I'm  well 
minded  to  snatch  that  gun  right  out  of  your  hand." 

And  to  my  astonishment  he  actually  did  make  a 
pass  at  it;  but  I  jerked  my  hand,  and  as  I  jerked,  my 


ONAWAGO  215 

forefinger  wrapped  about  the  trigger  too  lovingly  and 
a  belch  of  smoke  and  flame  grazed  the  hand  of 
Bruce  Long.  The  roar  of  the  charge  rolled  down 
the  Hollow  in  undulating  waves  like  the  reverbrating 
boom  of  thunder.  For  the  succeeding  moment  the 
the  white  powder-smoke  screened  Bruce  from  me; 
and  aprehensively  I  shrank  back  and  slowly  arose 
to  my  knees,  then  to  my  feet,  stepping  sidewise  for 
a  view  of  him.  And  well  I  did,  for  through  the 
muffling  smoke  he  suddenly  launched  forward,  leap- 
ing at  where,  a  second  before,  I  had  been. 

"Stand  where  you  are!"  I  cried  threateningly, 
again  cocking  the  revolver.  "Don't  you  dare  move!" 

He  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

"Sit  down,"    I  commanded. 

He  silently  refused. 

"Sit  down,  I  say." 

And  he  sank  cross-legged. 

"I  won't  make  you  hold  up  your  hands,"  I  said 
almost  banteringly  in  the  ecstasy  of  my  truiumph, 
"for  I  know  you  have  no  gun.  But  I'll  have  you  sit 
where  you  are  and  not  a  word  from  you,  nor  a 
finger  raised,  because  my  finger's  rebellious  tonight." 

"You're  a  bungler,  Bundy,"  he  retorted.  "No- 
thing but  a  bungler  to  force  that  trigger  when  you 


216  ONAWAGO 

did.  I  considered  you  more  worthy  than  such  a 
deed.  Scarcely  supposed  you'd  fire  on  a  man  un- 
der no  provocation.  I  trusted  you  and  you've 
played  me  false.  Yes,  you've  the  high  hand  now, 
all  right.  But  I've  doubts  as  to  you're  holding  it  for 
long.  A  bungler  never  wins  out  except  through 
sheer  luck— the  luck's  not  your  way  just  at  present." 

His  irony  hurt  me,  I  answered  him  not.  This 
avenue  of  escape  had  voluntarily  opened  before  me 
and  I  meant  to  follow  it  up.  Still  with  the  revolver 
leveled  menacingly  at  him,  unflinchingly  I  backed 
pace  by  pace  from  him  to  the  brush  edge,  bidding 
Luxor  follow. 

One  thing  hindered  and  bothered.  'Twas  fool- 
hardiness  attempting  to  escape  with  Long  at  liberty 
to  act  as  soon  as  I  should  draw  away  into  the  brush. 
Yet  there  was  nothing  to  bind  him  with.  I  thought 
a  momet,  hesitating.  Ah,  yes,  grapevine  had  served 
me  before  as  twine.  But  I  had  no  knife.  I  dared 
not  lower  the  gun  a  sufficient  length  of  time  to  twist 
them  in  twain.  I  saw  no  recourse  but  to  borrow 
Long's  knife,  by  force  if  need  be. 

I  deliberately  walked  over  to  him  and  addressed 
him  perfunctorily. 


ONAWAGO  217 

"Hand  over  your  knife,  Mr.  Long,  please.  I 
need  it. 

Reluctantly  he  reached  into  his  trouser  pocket 
and  drew  it  forth,  handing  it  to  me. 

"You  intend,  I  suppose,  cleaving  a  passage  for 
yourself  through  that  entanglement.  Well,  you've 
a  tedious  and  a  mighty  strength-trying  job  before  you 
then.  But  don't  let  the  Breeds  catch  you  slashing 
the  brush.  They'll  resent  it.  It's  their  safeguard 
and  they'll  hate  most  awfully  to  have  someone 
meddle  with  it.  You're  taking  a  big  risk  attempting 
to  fight  your  way  this  foggy  night  out  of  this  place. 
I'll  warrant  you  don't  succeed,  but  here's  the  knife 
anyway.  It  all  depends  on  yourself  henceforth." 

I  backed  once  more  to  the  brush-edge,  continu- 
ing to  hold  the  revolver  leveled.  A  few  paces  within 
it  and  I  found  without  difficulty  a  twining  woodbine 
ivy.  With  one  hand  I  cut  three  strands  of  the  vine. 
'Twas  but  a  moment's  work;  then  I  walked  back  to 
him,  the  while  keeping  him  well  covered  with  the 
gun.  Stepping  behind  him,  I  made  him  give  me  his 
hands  and  without  hesitancy.  I  was  surprised  at  his 
punctual  acquiesence.  A  moment  more  and  I 
wrapped  the  woodbine  about  his  wrists  and  drew  it 
tight,  careless  of  the  pain  inflicted  by  the  thongs. 


218  ONAWAGO 

Then  flinging  an  arm  roughly  about  his  neck,  I  threw 
him  on  his  back,  and,  reaching  over  pinioned  his  legs 
with  my  weight  and  bound  his  ankles  likewise.  I 
knelt  upon  him  and  wrapped  the  two  remaining 
vine-ropes  about  his  ankles,  gloating  inwardly  upon 
my  triumph,  though  in  silence.  Long  uttered  not  a 
word  nor  made  an  objection  to  my  proceedings. 

Suddenly  Luxor  crouched  to  the  earth,  glaring 
menacingly  and  growling,  making  as  though  in  pre- 
paration for  a  spring.  I  glanced  apprehensively  be- 
hind me,  but  even  as  I  glanced,  something  fell  heavily 
upon  me,  embracing  me,  enveloping  me  in  a 
smothering  wrapping,  and,  muffled  nigh  to  suffoca- 
tion, I  felt  myself  lifted  and  borne  away,  whither  I 
did  not  know^  Through  my  covering,  as  from  a 
great  distance  and  density,  I  heard  a  warning  excla- 
mation from  Bruce  Long,  an  oath,  an  answering 
taunt,  then  again  a  threatening  curse  from  him,  a 
loud,  sharp  bark  from  Luxor  and  the  next  moment 
a  weighty  body  launched  heavily  upon  me,  which  I 
knew  was  Luxor  assailing  my  captor,  whoever  he 
might  be.  Then  I  felt  Luxor  give  way  from  off  me. 
Then  all  was  silent.  I  felt  myself  carried  some  dis- 
tance, then  laid  down  gently. 

At  length  I  struggled  with  my  great  wrapping,  but 


ONAWAGO  219 

to  no  avail.  I  was  powerless,  pinioned  motionless. 
I  felt  for  the  revolver.  It  was  gone.  I  remembered 
then  of  having  lain  it  aside  in  order  to  have  both 
hands  with  which  to  tie  Bruce's  ankles.  I  felt  for  his 
pen-knife.  Ah,  it  was  in  my  pocket.  My  blood 
surged  with  a  great  bound.  Moving  with  utmost 
difficulty  I  unclasped  its  small  blade.  Puncturing  the 
covering  about  me,  I  sawed  a  lengthy  downward  slit; 
then  another  and  another  through  various  thick- 
nesses, and,  at  length,  I  beheld  the  moonlight.  Part- 
ing the  slits  I  crawled  through  the  opening  and  re- 
covered my  feet.  Dense  brush  on  all  sides  hemmed 
me  in.  The  night  fog  blurred  the  heavens,  through 
which  the  moonlight  pierced,  feeble  and  wan.  I 
stood  alone.  Luxor  was  nowhere  near;  neither  was 
Bruce.  I  wondered,  mystified,  at  the  sudden  and  in- 
explicable transformation  of  my  position. 

But  one  thing  I  did  see,  for  there  in  the  gloom, 
standing  forth  through  the  mists,  I  discerned  the 
barren  slope  of  a  sand  hill.  I  lost  not  a  moment  in 
striking  for  and  reaching  it,  I  began  laboriously 
trudging  up  its  steep  side,  the  sand  slipping  and  giving 
way  beneath  my  feet  and  flowing  to  the  base.  As  I 
clambered  and  strove  slowly  upward,  the  sand  ankle 
deep  and  tenacious,  inwardly  furious  at  my  tedious 


220  ONAWAGO 

progress,  weakening  through  the  strain  of  endeavor, 
yet  with  all,  thanking  Providence  for  my  strange  and 
baffling  deliverance  through  whose  agency  I  knew 
not,  I  suddenly  stopped  short  in  my  breathless  climb, 
and  clung  for  support  to  a  sassafras,  my  heart  sinking 
like  lead  in  my  breast,  my  brain  reeling,  an  unnerv- 
ing nausea  throughout  me — for  I  had  reached  a 
goodly  elevation.  I  had  looked  down  and  to  one 
side;  and,  as  I  looked,  a  trifling  night-breath  had 
caught  and  swirled  the  mists  upward  in  an  eddying 
current.  Through  this  breach  of  a  second's  duration 
—through  the  night  air  and  the  unobstructed  moon- 
light, down  there  to  the  left  beneath  me,  in  a  small 
clearing  in  the  thicket  in  the  hollow,  glowed  the 
embers  of  a  fire.  And  there  beside  the  fire,  strong 
within  the  glow,  lay  outstretched  the  long,  lithe  form 
of  Luxor,  motionless— perhaps  lifeless.  And  there 
to  my  sorrow — to  the  chilling  of  my  blood — to  the 
reeling  of  my  senses — to  the  infusing  of  weakness 
throughout  my  already  weakened  physique — there 
stood  Long,  his  hands  still  bound,  though  his  feet 
were  free.  His  head  hung  despondently — despair 
incarnate,  though  he  watched  without  a  flinch  and 
with  a  cold  scornful  expression,  the  antics  and  enact- 
ments of  Francois  and  Dominque.  To  my  horror  I 


ONAWAGO  221 

saw  they  were  building  a  fire.  A  stake  already 
had  been  implanted  beside  it.  Then  the  mists  blew 
back  and  I  saw  no  more. 

I  doubted  not  that  they  had  failed  to  reckon  upon 
Bruce's  penknife  being  in  my  possession. 

For  the  moment  that  I  stood  there  on  the  hill- 
slope  well  nigh  stunned,  I  refused  to  credit  my  eye- 
sight. Could  not  this  dread  vision,  glimpsed  through 
the  unfolding  of  the  night  mists  have  been,  after  all, 
naught  but  mere  illusion— some  phantom  of  my 
fevered  imagination?  I  waited  hopefully  for  one 
other  stirring  night  breath  to  waft  aside  the  vapor, 
that  I  might  verify  my  own  sanity.  Yet,  though  I 
waited,  sacrificing  invaluable  time,  there  came  no 
parting  of  the  fogs.  Then  I  slunk  silently  back  down 
the  hill. 

For  what  could  be  viler  murder  on  my  part  than 
to  leave  him  to  a  fate  such  as  this. 


222  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  SHADE  OF  PONTIAC. 

A  S  a  feline  stalks  its  quarry,  I  slipped  along  in  the 
-*"*-  direction  of  the  fire,  crawling  for  the  most 
part  on  all  fours  in  order  to  avoid  the  betraying 
rustle  of  the  frost-crisp  foliage  that  I  should  brush 
against  in  my  passage.  An  age  it  seemed,  when  fin- 
ally, I  heard  distinctly  a  voice  that  served  to  direct 
me  to  my  goal.  'Twas  the  imperious  voice  of  Bruce 
Long. 

"Dogs!  You'll  suffer.  What  think  you  I  may 
care  for  a  few  minutes  torture?  While  you  roast  me 
and  linger  here  in  your  infernal  folly,  through  your 
short-sightedness,  he'll  escape.  Mark  my  words! 
He'll  escape.  The  ants  aren't  out  till  daybreak;  and 
even  then  it  will  take  hours  for  them  to  eat  through 
the  bear  hides  before  they  can  get  at  him." 

"By  gar!  De  ants  dey  needs  meats  for  dees  wint- 
air.  Now  dey  feas'  dees  day,  now  soon.  Great 
beeg  feas',  they  haf!  Dominique  and  Francois  dey 


GNAW  AGO  223 

haf  beeg  feas'  too,  sometam,  now  soon,  queek,  Ha! 
Ha!  Now  soon,  queek!" 

It  was  Francois  chuckling  to  himself,  with  face- 
tious anticipation  that  made  ominous  reply  to  Bruce 
Long's  admonitions. 

"But  I  tell  you  he'll  get  away!  Damme  if  I  don't 
hope  he  does!" 

Meanwhile  I  had  glided  noiselessly  forward,  and 
now  was  witness  of  the  blood-curdling  scene  before 
me.  From  where  I  lay  crouched  behind  the  skirt- 
ing bush  and  well  within  its  shadow,  as  I  looked  for- 
ward upon  that  dread  scene,  I  was  drunk  with  the 
appalling  horror  that  should  soon  be  enacted  before 
my  eyes — enacted  unless  I  interfered.  Interfere!  And 
to  what  purpose?  I,  in  my  enfeebled  state,  physic- 
ally, against  two  such  brawn  as  they! 

Bruce  Long  was  tied  to  a  stake,  tied  by  his  hands 
which  were  still  behind  him.  His  feet  were  bound 
to  its  base.  A  heap  of  firewood  lay  in  waiting  close 
by.  Our  original  fire  still  smouldered  shortly  to  one 
side.  Luxor  still  lay  outstretched  and  motionless 
within  its  warmth,  though  with  gladness  well  nigh  un- 
unsuppressible  I  discerned  he  breathed— breathed  in 
short  jerking  gasps. 

"Fools!     Pile    on    your     brush!     You    haven't 


224  ONAWAGO 

enough  in  your  whole  accursed  gully  to  scorch  my 
finger-tips!  Pile  it  on!  Heap  it  up!  For  while 
you're  heaping  it  up — he'll  escape!  You're  both 
dead  dogs.  He'll  have  the  whole  country  popula- 
tion for  twenty  miles  around  here  upon  you.  But 
pile  it  on,  fools!  Heap  it  up!  There's  a  stick  over 
there  you've  missed!" 

Meanwhile  he  strained  heavily  upon  his  hand 
bonds,  though  futilely.  Now  he  straightened  up;  then 
lurched  suddenly  forward  from  them,  wrenching  the 
stake  within  its  socket.  Yet  his  fetters  gave  not. 
Then  with  face  pale  and  determined,  though  hope- 
less, he  re-straightened  to  his  full  height  and  stood 
calmly  regarding  the  breeds  with  a  cynical  sneer 
upon  his  face — regarded  them  while  they  gathered 
the  brush-branch  firewood,  their  dark  faces  alight 
with  fiendish  blood-thirst. 

Luxor  moved  and  I  saw  his  eyes  open.  Dom- 
inique saw  also.  Quickly  he  snatched  from  the 
ground  a  long  raw-hide  thong  and  a  moment  more 
he  had  secured  it  about  Luxor's  neck,  whereupon  he 
yanked  the  old  dog  to  his  feet  and  dragged  him 
over,  tied  him  close  behind  Bruce  Long's  legs, 
where  Luxor  sank  faint,  with  a  low  groan,  to  the 
earth.  Ah,  then  both  were  to  burn  together!— burn 


ONAWAGO  225 

together,  unless  I  interfered!  And  yet — and  yet — I 
was  not  certain  that  in  the  extremity  I  should  not 
dare  the  risk! 

I  carefully  scanned  the  ground  within  the  fire- 
light. Then  at  length  I  discerned  the  object  of  my 
search.  The  revolver  lay  half  imbedded  in  the  sand 
near  where  Bruce  had  lain  during  my  taking  him 
prisoner.  Yes,  there  it  lay  half  hidden,  but 
could  I  get  it — possibly  procure  it  without  rash  jeop- 
ardy? Verily  no!  It  was  too  full  within  the  radius 
of  the  firelight  and  too  near  the  Breeds'  present 
position.  I  lay  and  silently  considered. 

Then  stealthily  I  edged  around  the  brush  until 
directly  opposite  the  revolver.  And  there  I  lay  in 
readiness. 

My  attention  reverted  again  to  Bruce.  He  still 
stood  at  full  height,  sardonically  intent  upon  the 
Breeds.  Then  suddenly  while  both  of  them  were 
bent  in  gathering  an  armful  of  fuel,  I  saw  Bruce 
snatch  a  deep  breath.  Instantly  from  his  opened 
lips  burst  forth  the  terrible  squall  of  a  panther. 
Francois  with  an  agile  bound  was  athis  throat.  I  heard 
Long's  gutteral  strangulations  as  the  violent  Breed 
throttled  him.  My  nails  dug  deep  into  my  palms  in 
the  suppression  of  my  fury.  For  the  moment  I  was 


226  ONAWAGO 

strongly  tempted  to  rush  from  my  hiding  place 
and  vent  my  worst  upon  the  two  fiends  through 
means  of  the  revolver's  god-sent  aid.  But  perforce 
I  withheld  my  passion,  and  in  an  agony  of  awful 
suspense,  awaited  the  development  of  this  warning, 
voiced  but  now  by  Bruce. 

To  my  horror  and  apprehension  I  saw  the  mad- 
dened Breed  tear  open  Long's  collar,  and  reach- 
ing therein  wrench  forth  with  violence  the  Medicine 
Eye.  Fearful,  awestruck,  and  horrified  I  watched 
him  fling  the  thing,  chain  and  all,  into  the  fire. 
Spellbound,  I  watched  it  there  among  -the  coals, 
glistening  and  glittering  strangely,  glaring  wildly  as 
though  with  cunning  calculation — glare  until  my 
sight  could  scarce  withstand  the  strange  penetrating 
glitter.  Then  it  vanished.  A  small  ring  of  ashes 
was  left  where  it  had  lain.  Ah,  God!  How  quickly 
it  had  vanished!  And,  ah,  God!  That  which  I  be- 
held even  as  it  vanished!  For  while  it  lay  there 
glittering  virulently,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  smoke 
of  the  fire  had  taken  form — taken  the  shadowy  form 
of  a  human  figure — the  form  of  a  magnificent  and 
powerful  warrior,  draped  in  all  the  splendid  regalia 
of  his  wargear,  had  taken  form  of  the  smoke  and 
stooping  had  plucked  the  trinket  from  the  coals. 


ONAWAGO  227 

Then  both  had  vanished.  The  shade  of  Pontiac  had 
reclaimed  his  own!  Yet  none  came.  The  surround- 
ing stillness,  the  chill  night  air  and  the  gloomy 
moonlight,  the  mists,  the  vapor-enshrouded  recesses 
of  the  Hollow  and  that  horrid  scene  before  me, 
luminated  by  our  own  late  fire  flashing  wierdly,  re- 
posed and  endured  throughout  it  all.  I  lay  cower- 
ing, awe-stricken  by  that  which  I  beheld.  Suddenly 
a  whistle  broke  the  tensity — a  shrill,  quavering 
whistle  followed  closely  by  two  identical  others,  each 
long  drawn  out  and  shaping  responsive  echoes  from 
the  surrounding  hills. 

Melancholy  dread  crept  upon  me.  I  saw  'Lux' 
shift  his  stub  ears  and  the  Breeds  for  a  moment  were 
silent,  probably  also  terrified  by  that  which  I  had 
seen— I  saw  them  glance  sharply  at  one  another  and 
with  every  sense  alert  listen  attentively,  exhibiting 
the  selfsame  keenness  as  the  hound  when  he  strikes  the 
fresh  scent  of  the  quarry.  Preconcerted  understand- 
ing existed  between  them  for  neither  spoke  nor  ut- 
tered a  single  exclamation.  The  whistle's  last  dying 
echoes  had  subsided  and  the  old  irksome  silence  had 
again  closed  in,  when  suddenly  it  was  repeated,  this 
time  in  three  shorter  blasts,  louder  than  previously 
but  with  selfsame  quiver. 


228  ONAWAGO 

Simultaneously  each  Breed  turned,  and,  before  I 
could  comprehend  our  great  fortune,  had  glided 
stealthily  away  into  the  thicket. 

J  crouched  for  some  time  in  a  sort  of  daze  before 
I  guessed  fully  the  situation.  Then  cautiously  I 
crept  forth  from  my  hiding,  and  with  surging 
thanksgiving  that  set  my  nerves  tingling,  I  felt  the 
cold  steel  of  the  revolver  firmly  within  my  hand  be- 
fore I  ventered  a  word  to  Bruce. 

He  stood  lurched  forward  with  down-drooped 
head,  utter  dejection  written  upon  his  handsome 
face.  He  saw  me  not  close  beside  him  before  I 
spoke  and  then  he  started.  As  the  shock  of  his  sur- 
prise wore  off,  he  regarded  me  complacently  and 
with  a  smile. 

"Gad!  Can  I  believe  my  senses,  Dave?  Why, 
how  the  deuce  came  you  here?  You're  supposed  to 
be  forage  for  ants  to  winter  on.  Nice  fate  for  a  man 
— to  be  eaten  alive,  devoured  piece-meal,  atom  by 
atom,  until  death  delivers  you  from  the  hideous 
agony.  But  <;ome,  explain  how  you're  here  and  un- 
scratched?  They  are  after  you  now." 

I  told  him  briefly.  But  during  the  while  I  lost 
no  time.  With  his  own  pen-knife  I  severed  his 


ONAWAGO  229 

bonds  and  stood  him  free.  Then  Luxor  likewise — 
though  'Lux'  was  almost  too  weak  to  move. 

"Now  come,  Long,"  I  said,  "we're  going  out 
of  here  without  a  second's  delay.  We'll 
carry  Luxor  into  the  brush  here  apace  where  the 
Breeds  shall  not  aptly  discover  him  and  there  leave 
him  to  care  for  himself  till  his  strength  returns  and 
he  can  get  home  of  his  own  accord.  Come  now,  they 
may  be  back  in  a  minute." 

"Not  much,  Bundy.  It's  not  meet  that  you 
should  leave  this  Hollow.  'Twould  be  impossible 
for  you  to  get  out  of  here  now,  as  well  as  old  Luxor 
himself.  You're  both  doomed  together.  Your  fates 
are  the  same.  Of  course  I  know  full  sure  they  dare  not 
burn  him— though  they  would  me.  Tis  decreed 
you  shall  both  die  together.  And,  Bundy,  even 
though  I  might  assist  you  in  escaping,  'twould  prove 
useless,  because  I  should  be  thwarted  in  my  purpose. 
She  wills,  and  you,  Luxor  and  I,  all  of  us,  obey.  We 
are  powerless  to  do  otherwise." 

"Long,  listen  to  me.  Those  Breeds  shall  both 
die,  and  you  too,  if  need  be,  but  I  shall  escape  from 
here.  More  than  for  my  own  good  do  I  declare 
and  shall  ultimately  enforce  this  threat.  Martha,  her 
mother,  my  own  mother  and  little  Mary,  and  above 


230  GNAW  AGO 

all  Dick  and  Jean,  besides  myself,  hang  helpless  upon 
this  one  purpose  of  escaping,  in  which  I  shall  suc- 
ceed or  myself  die  in  the  attempt.  Now,  I  mean 
every  syllable  I  say,  so  don't  balk  or  act  glum,  but 
follow  me,  for  I  am  going  this  very  moment." 

I  ceased  speaking  because  of  a  crackle  in  the  near- 
by brush.  Quickly  I  stepped  with  my  back  to  the 
fire,  my  revolver  cocked,  desperation  for  the  mo- 
ment calming  my  overwrought  nerves. 

"Now  you  obey  me,  Long,  or  by  heaven,  I'll  pull 
this  on  you  before  I  do  on  the  Breeds.  There's 
four  loads  left— plenty.  Stand  aside  there." 

Bruce  nonchalantly  stepped  aside,  though  I  kept 
my  eye  well  on  him.  No  sooner  had  he  done  so 
than  I  distinguished  the  dim  outlines  of  the  Breeds 
within  the  cover  of  the  brush.  They  paused  there, 
I  deem,  with  surprise  at  my  occupancy  of  their  late 
scene  of  barbarism,  and  myself  in  charge  through  the 
medium  of  death-dealing  lead. 

Now  I  saw  them  step  quickly  together  and  con- 
verse a  moment  designedly.  Meanwhile  I  main- 
tained my  attitude  of  defiance  of  both  them  and 
Bruce.  But  as  I  held  the  heavy  pistol  at  arms  length 
and  at  full  cock,  in  "ready,"  suddenly,  with  sharp 
impact,  something  struck  it  from  my  hand,  tingling 


ONAWAGO  231 

my  finger  with  benumbing  pain— and  glancing  down 
at  my  feet,  I  beheld  a  good  sized  pebble  where  it  had 
just  fallen.  Then  before  I  could  act,  Bruce  had  sprung 
nimbly  forward  in  low  bent  posture,  darted  past  me 
like  a  wraith,  and  gathered  the  gun  from  the 
ground  as  he  passed.  As  he  stopped  short  close  to 
me  he  was  laughing  softly  to  himself. 

"Now,  you  infernal  hell-hounds,  come  out  of 
that  brush.  Hear  ye?  Step  up  here  or  I'll  send  a 
quick  and  dutiful  errand-runner  after  you  that'll  not 
pause  for  parleying.  Walk  right  up  here.  This  is 
no  time  for  conflabbing.  You're  beaten  at  your 
own  game;  so  march  right  up  and  be  gentlemen — 
hounds  though  you  are!" 

To  my  astonishment  the  Breeds  came  slowly  for- 
ward, their  sensual  faces  wreathed  in  smiles.  I  sus- 
pected that  some  low-lived  deviltry  still  lurked  be- 
neath such  placid  conduct.  But  as  they  advanced  into 
our  area  Bruce  frustrated  any  such  intentions  as  they 
may  have  had,  for  he  walked  deliberately  up  to  them 
and  with  brazen  defiance  thrust  the  gaping  muzzle 
of  that  large  horse  pistol  first  into  Francois'  face  and 
then  into  Dominique's.  His  bantering  served  to 
cow  them. 

"Now  you  stand  there  and  without  a  move!    This 


232  ONAWAGO 

is  no  infant's  toying  hereafter.  Either  of  you  move 
a  finger  and  I'll  blow  you — now  no  use  objecting. 
I'm  going  to  care  for  you  both  and  in  grand  style. 
It  grieves  me  to  see  you  running  thus  at  large  and 
especially  at  night.  Now  Dave,  just  step  around 
here  and  bedeck  them  with  ribbons.  But  pray,  be 
gentle!" 

He  beckoned  me  indifferently  to  a  small  coil  of 
raw-hide  strips  which  I  deemed  had  been  the  property 
of  the  Breeds.  And,  sparing  no  time  in  useless  de- 
liberation, I  procured  them  and  made  haste  to  per- 
form his  will — to  secure  the  two  Breeds  both  hand 
and  foot  even  as  they  had  secured  me.  I  performed 
it  readily  and  with  an  intoxicating  delight  of  retali- 
ation. Some  several  minutes  later  they  lay  entirely 
at  our  mercy,  bound  both  hand  and  foot  and  gagged 
in  order  that  they  should  not  summon  untimely  suc- 
cor. Then  in  an  exuberance  of  triumph,  Bruce 
turned  to  me. 

"Now,  Bundy,  it's  your  turn.  I'm  bound  in 
duty  to  do  this  same  to  yourself.  You,  too,  'd  prove 
a  menace  if  at  large.  Even  Luxor  has  to  be  held  in 
restraint.  He  too  might  want  to  know  too 
much.  So  don't  bother  about  resisting  because  I'll 
hate  like  sixty  to  put  you  in  worse  shape  than  you 


ONAWAGO  233 

are  already— though  I'll  promise  I'll  not  hesitate  too 
long  before  giving  it  to  you.  You've  done  me  a 
most  kindly  service  tonight,  Dave,  in  delivering  me 
from  the  vengeance  of  these  two  curs.  Gads,  'twould 
be  a  relief  to  pull  a  trigger  on  each  one  separately! 
Twould  relieve  me  of  a  lot  of  worry  in  our  behalf 
for  the  balance  of  the  day  before  I  come  again  tonight, 
for  you  see  it's  nigh  dawn  now.  It's  already  graying 
in  the  east.  The  moon's  paling.  So  I'll  have  to  be 
going.  Now,  don't  kick  up  any  unnecessary  rumpus 
but  accept  these  little  strings  like  a  man.  This  gun 
almost  refused  to  behave  itself  seemly." 

With  his  unperturbed  candor  he  already  was 
wrapping  those  hateful  thongs  of  rawhide  about  my 
wrists — then  about  my  ankles — and  I  lay  helpless 
though  thankfully  alive — prostrate  upon  the  bare 
ground.  Then  Bruce  made  Luxor  fast  to  me  and 
immediately  turned  to  leave.  Then  a  new  thought 
seemed  to  be  his,  for  he  came  back  beside  me  and 
kneeling,  began  earnestly  in  a  sunken  whisper: 

"There's  a  secret  concering  you  and  your  life — 
the  one  and  the  only  thing  upon  which  the  scales 
are  now  balancing — and  that  one  thing  is  Luxor,  yes 
old  Luxor  here.  Yet  perhaps — perhaps — no,  not  till 


234  ONAWAGO 

later  shall  I  tell  you  this.  Yes,  some  other  time  will 
serve  better  and  the  subject  will  keep.  I  shall  return 
shortly  before  midnight.  But  while  I  am  gone  I  fore- 
warn you — warn  you  that  as  you  value  your  life — 
warn  you  to  beware  that  no  harm  befalls.  Good 
night  and  fare  you  well!  But  remember,  Dave,  that 
I  forewarn  you  that  as  you  value  your  life,  beware  no 
harm  befalls  this  dog!" 

He  arose  to  his  feet.  Then  with  a  backward 
glance  and  a  smile,  a  genial  wave  of  the  hand,  he 
was  gone — the  cloud  of  mystery  in  which  we  moved 
rising  ever  blacker  before  me.  For  the  moment 
succeeding  Long's  departure,  I  lay  in  a  state  almost 
of  stupefaction,  endeavoring  to  unravel,  at  least,  one 
thread  of  the  mystery  entangled  about  old  Luxor  and 
myself.  In  almost  a  state  of  stupefaction  I  say,  for 
my  mind,  blurred  by  all  the  glamor  of  the  late 
events,  could  grasp  not  the  strangeness  of  it  all.  As 
I  lay  there  before  the  dying  fire  upon  one  side,  gaz- 
ing into  it  ponderingly,  it  all  seemed  unreal  and  im- 
possible, and  with  difficulty  could  I  impress  upon 
myself  that  it  all  was  not,  in  fact,  some  weird  and 
fantastic  hallucination,  and  that,  finally,  I  should  not 
awake  to  discover  it  verily  such. 


ONAWAGO  235 

Then  as  I  lay  there  my  lethargy  incensed  me  and 
with  mind  close  to  dormancy  and  with  my  faithful 
Luxor  huddled  close  beside  me,  I  drowsed  slowly 
into  dreamless  oblivion. 


236  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
I  will  fear  no  evil." 

mother's  voice  seemed  speaking  in  my  sleep, 
this  old  familiar  passage.  I  stirred  and  awoke, 
opening  my  eyes  to  broad  daylight.  Once  again  it 
rang  within  my  ears  as  from  some  unseen  messenger. 
Troth,  it  was  soothing  sweet!  I  breathed  it  aloud, 
lingeringly,  fondly,  caressingly — imbibing  hushed 
contentment  from  its  divine  solace. 

My  rest  had  been  dreamless  and  profound. 
Freed  from  fatigue  was  I  when  I  awoke,  having 
slept  to  late  afternoon,  much  to  my  surprise.  I  felt 
somewhat  my  usual  self,  though  a  haze  hung  before 
my  eyes  and  a  dull  ache  lay  above  them.  My  brain 
seemed  full  and  giddy;  and  I  was  cold,  every 
muscle  of  my  body  cringing  with  cold  and  seemingly 
having  stiffened  rigid.  Flat  on  my  back,  I  lay,  shack- 
led as  it  were,  upon  the  chill  sand  without  even 
so  much  as  a  straw  beneath  me,  my  blood  coursing 


ONAWAGO  237 

frigid  within  my  veins — frigid  until  I  seemed  be- 
numbed as  though  partially  lifeless  and  so  stiffened 
that  with  utmost  difficulty  I  turned  on  my  side. 

Meanwhile,  as  in  a  sort  of  delirium,  that  sooth- 
ing "Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,"  reiterated  continually  through 
my  mind,  which  words  I  repeated  constantly  to  my- 
self, pronouncing  them  over  and  over  again  as  might 
some  child  upon  learning  some  new  word,  and  found 
fascination  in  its  utterance. 

Close  about  me  grew  the  stunted  growth  of  the 
Hollow,  and  as  I  lay  there  upon  my  side  I  looked 
down  the  long  length  of  the  great  gulley  out  through 
the  narrow  gap  and  onto  the  rippless  surface  of  old 
Michigan.  The  sullen,  frowning  bluffs  that  gave 
opening  only  at  this  narrow  gap,  shone  white  in  the 
mellow  sunlight  of  the  late  afternoon.  The  sun  him- 
self stood  behind  the  high  sand-mountain  that 
towered  above  us,  casting  its  sombre  shadow  over 
the  entire  length  of  the  hollow,  draping  it  with  dusk 
and  depressing  chill.  I  found  my  bivouac  to  be  near 
the  mountain's  base  on  a  very  slight  elevation  and  a 
gradual  declivity  of  which  I  had  been  unaware  last 
evening.  Thus  I  was  enabled  to  observe  to  a  cer- 
tainty our  position.  I  commanded  a  fairly  general 


238  ONAWAGO 

view.  On  either  side  the  giant  hill  described  a  some- 
what circuitous  though  irregular  sweep;  and  skirting 
this  sweep  ran  the  hollow— somber  and  silent  as  it 
now  lay  in  shadow,  except  for  a  fitful  breath  of  wind 
that  fanned  from  the  lake,  flitting  and  whispering 
down  the  great  gulch.  And  it  fanned  gratefully  my 
fevered  brow  as  I  lay  there  gazing  listlessly  about  my 
surroundings — regardless  and  careless  of  the  world 
as  it  shone  sumptuously  in  its  autumnal  glory— list- 
less as  I  gazed  upward  and  watched  the  drift  of  a  few 
fleecy  clouds  lazily  straggle  across  heaven's  cerulean 
vault— listless  of  their  unimpaired  splendor  as  the 
afternoon  sun,  striking  obliquely  upon  them,  bathed 
their  upper  parts  snow-white,  their  nether  parts  deli- 
cious lilac.  For  down  here  beneath  them,  cheerless, 
chilling  and  in  the  pitiable  plight  of  my  extraordi- 
nary lot,  the  gigantic  sand  dune's  shadow  reclining 
across  the  valley,  added  soulless  spirit  to  my  despair. 
Directly  across  the  hollow  swept  the  low  sullen 
rise  of  a  rather  diminutive  dune,  its  long  ridge-crest 
extending  the  entire  length  of  the  deep  gully  down 
upon  which  its  bleak  sides  frowned  austerely  in  the 
bask  of  the  afternoon  sun.  The  few  dwarfed  bushes 
that  clung  to  its  well  nigh  desert  slopes,  had  dyed  to 
dull  sienna  their  summer  coats.  A  fringe  of  sassa- 


GNAW  AGO  239 

fras  and  scrawny  poplar  crowned  its  flattened  top. 
One  solitary  and  scraggy  oak  reared  upon  the  sum- 
mit his  grotesque  arms,  contrasting  his  bronzed 
foliage  with  the  dark  green  of  three  Norway  pines 
and  the  whitened,  weather-bleached  skeleton  of  a 
long  dead  brother. 

Thus  I  endured  the  balance  of  that  afternoon, 
gazing  out  through  the  gap  upon  the  tranquil  surface, 
so  darkly  green  and  oily  smooth,  of  the  Great  Lake, 
gazing  dreamily  over  at  the  opposite  dune's  austere 
slopes  and  gazing  listlessly  upward  into  the  azure 
blue  heavens,  watching  those  few  fleecy  clouds  assume 
their  sundry  diversifications. 

Thus,  I  say,  I  lived  the  balance  of  the  afternoon 
— but  not  thus,  for  my  poor  powers  of  colloquy 
picture  not  a  tenth  my  suspense  and  my  anxiety;  a 
tenth  my  dread  of  the  uncertainty  of  the  future  and 
knowledge  of  my  awaiting  doom  as  culmination  to 
it  all,  nor  a  tenth  the  agony  rendered  by  the  awful 
realization  that  on  my  helplessness  rested  solely  the 
fortunes  and  futures  of  several  innocent  lives.  I 
brooded  and  studied  upon  my  extraordinary  lot  as  I 
lay  there  upon  my  side  staring  absent-mindedly  up- 
ward into  the  cloud  flecked  sky.  Every  phase,  one 
by  one,  I  attempted  to  extricate  from  the  conflicting 


240  ONAWAGO 

maze  of  mystery;  until  at  length,  having  exhausted 
futily  every  phase  mentionable,  I  would  bring  to 
mind  all  trivial  incidents  of  the  late  past;  but  from 
these  I  would  eventually  drift  back  upon  my  own 
present  enigmatical  problem,  and  brood  and  ponder 
anew. 

I  could  with  effort  move — but  little  more.  The 
Breeds  still  lay  bound  and  gagged,  awake,  though 
undemonstrative.  Luxor,  tied  to  my  own  weight, 
stretched  beside  me  at  full  length,  long,  gaunt,  un- 
gainly, his  head  resting  between  his  great  paws,  his 
short  black  coat  glossing  in  the  reflected  sunlight  and 
his  spare  sides  heaving  measuredly  with  each  breath. 
Well  I  can  see  him  again  in  the  eye  of  my  fancy,  as 
he  lay  there  with  closed  eyes,  though  anon  opening 
them  to  reassure  himself,  with  a  fleeting  glance,  of 
my  safety.  How  I  envied  his  rest,  his  unperturbed 
composure,  while  I,  with  nerve-racking  anxiety,  must 
drone  away  the  seconds  of  those  age-like  hours.  I 
wondered,  in  a  strange  sort  of  way,  would  these  age- 
like  hours  ever  pass?  Would  midnight  ever  come? 
Would  Bruce  Long  ever  return?  I  wondered  would 
I  live  then,  because  now  I  began  apprehending 
death  as  proximate,  though  meaningless,  feeling  the 
terrible  purport  of  its  fathomless  dread  that  comes  to 


ONAWAGO  241 

a  man— that  dread  born  of  nature  and  imbued  im- 
mutably into  the  human  heart — now  coming  to  me 
in  the  guise  of  some  vague,  approaching  calamity, 
bereft  of  pleasure,  void  of  sorrow.  But,  after  all, 
would  it  not  come  as  a  welcome  deliverer? 

Why  had  Bruce  refrained  from  disclosing  that 
something  that  night  when  so  close  upon  the  verge 
of  it?  Whyfore  should  he  warn  me  that  as  I  valued 
my  life,  beware  no  harm  befell  Luxor?  What  con- 
necting link  could  exist  between  the  life  of  my  old 
dog  and  my  own? 

Thus  in  my  languor  and  my  insensate  condition, 
I  lived  the  day  almost  through,  watching  the  trans- 
figuration of  the  wandering  clouds,  until  my  atten- 
tion became  suddenly  arrested  by  one  other.  It  was 
nearing  sunset.  The  sun  had  swept  low  into  the 
west  and  into  view  from  where  I  lay.  The  entire 
west  was  aflame;  and  from  out  its  fiery  expanse  the 
blood  red  sun  streamed  his  golden  shafts  full  upon 
me,  lengthwise,  through  the  gap  from  where  he 
hovered  low  above  the  broad  margin  of  the  lake. 
Then  it  was  that  a  great,  black  thunder  head  sudden- 
ly thrust  its  gigantic  bulk  above  the  lake's  horizon 
and,  slowly  ascending,  blotted  out  the  face  of  the 
magnificent  orb  of  day. 


242  ONAWAGO 

Then  instantly  I  started,  and  with  the  surprise  of 
the  moment,  hitched  myself  to  a  sitting  posture;  for 
against  the  gigantic  thunder-head  as  a  background, 
was  pictured  at  rest  upon  the  motionless  waters,  the 
full-rigged  but  drooping  sails  of  a  small  schooner. 


ONAWAGO  243 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  LIGHT  ON  THE  LAKE. 

"VTIGHT  at  length  came,  and  I  expectantly  awaited 
-*•  ^  Bruce  Long,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  might 
perchance  change  his  mind  and  return  before  mid- 
night, which  had,  in  sooth,  been  the  proposed  period 
of  his  return.  For  with  the  darkness  and  the  nightly 
stillness  brooding  heavily  upon  the  hollow,  I  cringed 
with  secret  dread — dread  engendered  of  my  lone- 
liness, my  disconsolate  isolation  and  helplessness  and 
peril.  But  more  anxious  than  merely  for  his  com- 
panionable presence  was  I  to  learn  the  nature  of  that 
which  he  had  deemed  it  best  to  withhold  from  me 
last  night;  the  mystery  of  Luxor's  life  and  my  own. 

An  half  hour  of  utter  darkness  after  sunset  before 
dim  glimmerings  the  rising  moon  paled  the  east. 
Then  I  settled  back  full  length  and  lay  and  watched 
her  swing  into  view  in  the  east-north-east,  soaring 
majestically  from  out  the  black  forest  waste  and 
slowly  ascending,  throwing  in  grim  silhouette  the 
ink  black  side  of  the  sand  mountain  that  cut  obliquely 


244  ONAWAGO 

in  perspective  across  her  flooding  radiance.  As  she 
sailed  serenely  heavenward  my  troubled  spirit 
stilled  beneath  her  calm  and  benign  splendor,  and  I 
lay  staring  vacantly  upward  into  the  moonlight  and 
the  starlight,  with  my  soul  soothed,  lulled  to  care- 
free ennui  and  a  sub-conscious  drowse,  while  again 
through  my  tired  brain  sped  softly  as  the  purling  of 
a  babbling  stream,  that  old  familiar  passage:  "Yea, 
though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  I  will  fear  no  evil." 

Yet  even  so,  the  waiting  seemed  endless  and 
every  hour  an  age.  As  slowly  one  by  one  the 
minutes  dragged  past,  and  slowly  one  by  one  ac- 
cumulated into  hours,  Long  came  not.  Hour 
mounted  hour-and  still  he  came  not;  during  the  while 
the  silver  moon  soared  toward  her  zenith,  until  at 
length,  as  the  late  hours  approached,  in  black  gloom 
the  precipitous  side  of  the  giant  hill  rose  for  several 
hundred  feet  above  me  against  the  brilliancy  of  the 
moonbeams. 

Upon  the  hills  and  upon  the  Hollow  and  upon 
all  nature  brooded  breathless  calm— a  ghostly  calm 
in  the  wan,  white  moonlight.  Over  all  hung  close 
aground  the  thin  hoar  mist  that  rises  during  this  sea- 
son of  the  year  in  the  lowlands  at  the  setting  of  the 


GNAW  AGO  245 

sun.  Across  the  Hollow,  the  long  lesser  dune  re- 
posed mute,  well  nigh  barren*  its  slope  blanching 
lurid  beneath  the  moon's  white  radiance.  But  for 
this  ultra  brilliancy  of  the  moon,  'twould  well  have 
been  some  night  of  mid-summer.  With  the  sun 
down,  the  air  had  warmed  slightly  and  was  now 
balmy,  conveying  to  the  senses  the  subtle  touch  of 
sweetness  peculiar  to  mid-summer  gloamings.  Yet, 
throughout  it  all,  brooded  this  unbroken  silence. 
For  the  night  and  earth  and  even  God's  firmament 
itself,  seemed  dumbed — dumbed  with  fear  and  awe, 
fearful  for  that  which  I  divined  was  afoot — divined 
through  presentment.  Yet,  even  so,  I  half  credited 
this  selfsame  presentment  to  my  own  temperament 
this  night  and  to  my  imagination. 

A  soft  translucent  haze  in  the  vast  dome  of 
heaven  gave  access  to  but  the  brighter  orbs.  Through 
this  as  through  some  filmy  veil  the  moon  shed  her 
silver  light,  herself  some  several  degrees  yet  to  the 
east  of  her  zenith.  Glorious  in  her  full  radiance 
she  shone  majestic  and  serene  as  though  unaware 
that  over  in  the  west,  over  across  and  upon  the  livid 
and  forbidding  blackness  of  the  watery  plane,  gradu- 
ally neared  the  belligerent  and  already  contending 
forces  of  the  ethereal  that  should  soon  dethrone  her 


246  ONAWAGO 

from  her  reign  of  this  night,  over  our  earth — forces 
that  in  their  contention  offered  exceptional  and 
marvellous  diversion  so  in  contrast  to  her  peaceful 
and  ghostly  calm. 

For  banking  her  west,  filling  the  entire  west  up- 
ward from  its  horizon,  reaching  out  and  gradually 
extending  eastward,  a  black,  ominous  storm-cloud 
crept  across  the  sky.  Tier  upon  tier  of  storm-moun- 
tain was  reared  high  heavenward  into  mighty  thun- 
der heads.  Upon  this  grand  frontier  of  cloud-play 
the  silver  moonlight  streamed  slantwise,  tipping  each 
rugged  knob  or  pinacle  with  purest  snow — while 
each  crevice  and  embrasure  lay  dark  in  deepest 
mauve.  I  lay  with  unabashed  awe  and  unsuppressed 
appreciation  as  I  watched  them  thus  tower  their  stu- 
pendous hulks  and  constantly  edge  forward— for- 
ward upon  the  calm  domain  of  nature. 

The  black  forbidding  underparts  of  the  clouds, 
the  black  forbidding  waters  of  the  lake  and  all 
therein  blended  to  utter  oblivion — pierced  solely  by 
the  blazing  and  flashing  of  afar-off  tongued  lightn- 
ing. Dull,  sullen  grumbles  of  distant  thunder  rolled 
at  intervals  across  the  vast  breadth  of  intermediate 
waters;  and  I  noticed  that  the  shoreward  waters  of 
the  until  now  oily  smooth  bosom  of  the  grand  old 


ONAWAGO  247 

lake  were  by  degrees  becoming  agitated  by  the  ag- 
gravation on  the  farther  deep. 

And  then— and  then  I  stared,  strained  my  eyes 
and  stared,  stared  until  they  smarted  and  ached  and 
seemed  to  burst  their  sockets.  For  could  it  be,  or 
was  it  optical  illusion?— that  instantaneous  flash,  that 
uncertain  far-away  glimmer  of  light  from  out  the 
blackness  of  the  fast-approaching  storm?  Again  the 
same  feeble,  flickering  ray — aye,  and  more  steady 
and  lasting  this  time,  then  once  more  fading  from 
sight.  I  remembered  then — remember  the  vessel, 
the  small  sailing  vessel  pictured  at  sunset  in  the  dead 
calm  of  the  wind,  full-rigged  against  the  blackness  of 
the  gigantic  thunder-head  upon  the  horizon. 

"Well,  Bundy,  how  fares  the  night?  Beautiful, 
isn't  it?  And  exciting  too,  I'll  bet,  to  you.  Enjoy- 
ing your  hours  of  perfect  leisure,  I'll  wot!" 

It  was  Bruce  Long's  voice  that  interrupted  my 
eye-strained  observation  of  the  light  out  on  the  lake. 
By  his  tone  of  voice  alone  I  knew  he  was  tonight  his 
old  indomitable  self  again,  brusque,  talkative  and 
animated,  not  morbid  and  demure  as  last  evening. 
He  was  out  of  breath  and  flushed  with  the  exertion 
of  his  walk.  He  was  dressed  identically  as  last  night. 
In  the  silken  lapel  of  his  coat  was  thrust  one  single 


248  ONAWAGO 

late  fall  woods-violet.  I  knew  almost  to  a  cer- 
tainty and  with  a  bitter  pang  at  my  heart,  whose 
hand  had  placed  it  there. 

"Long  ways  from  midnight  yet,  but  the  folks 
were  worn  out  and  so  retired  early,  giving  me  an 
opportunity  to  skip  out  somewhat  earlier  than 
usual." 

He  was  thoughtful  a  moment,  contemplatively 
glancing  over  at  the  breeds. 

"Nice  state  of  affairs,  this  here:  two  dogs  tied 
away  from  two  others.  One  dog  tied  to  another. 
Two  dogs  tied  away  from  the  first  dog;  one  dog 
tied  away  from  the  other  two,  and  all  four  dead  anx- 
ious to  get  at  each  other's  throats.  Fancy  compli- 
cation of  friendships,  I  must  say!  Reckon  the  breeds 
must  have  been  chatting  sociably  with  those  wooden 
plugs  in  their  mouths!  Overheard  any  objections, 
Bundy?  Lord,  they  must  love  me  for  this!  Any- 
how their  love's  returned  in  ample  amount,  because 
I  sure  do  love  them." 

"Then  with  a  smile  Long  turned  to  me. 

"I'd  as  soon   and  with   as  few   scruples  shoot  the 

dogs  where   they  lie  as  bruise   the  heads  of  so  many 

rattlers!"     I  watched  his  hand  seek  involuntarily  his 

hip  pocket,  a  cynical  smile  compressing  his  thin  lips. 


ONAWAGO  249 

"But  come!  Time  presses.  I'm  only  going  to  stay 
a  couple  of  minutes  else  I  get  soaked.  That  storm's 
coming  up  pretty  fast;  and  it's  going  to  be  a  big  one 
too.  Here,  I've  brought  you  a  few  bites.  Dispose 
of  what  little  there  is  in  as  short  order  as  possible; 
divide  with  Luxor,  while  I  build  a  little  blaze  here 
for  your  temporary  comfort." 

While  talking  he  had  cut  the  thongs  from  my 
wrists  and  ankles,  untied  Luxor  from  me,  handed 
me  a  small  package  of  luncheon,  wrapped  in  heavy 
paper  and  bound  with  strong  hemp  cord,  and  then 
set  about  kindling  the  fire.  He  was  building  it  of 
brushwood  and  starting  it  with  a  few  dry  leaves. 
Repeatedly  it  refused  to  burn  and  several  matches 
he  wasted — matches  which  were,  every  one,  a  treas- 
ure in  my  eyes — and  while  he  strove  with  the  fire, 
I,  in  turn,  strove  to  undo  the  cords  from  about  my 
luncheon,  until  suddenly  a  ruse  flashed  into  my 
mind. 

"I  give  it  up,  Long,  trying  to  open  this  lunch, 
these  knots  which  you  have  managed  to  make  are  as 
hard  as  rocks.  My  fingers  are  numb  from  cold  and 
their  late  bandage.  Here,  open  it  for  me.  I'm  well 
nigh  starved." 

"What'll  you  have  to  say  in  a  couple  of  weeks 


250  ONAWAGO 

from  now  about  being  starved,  if  you're  starved  al- 
ready? Last  night  you  affirmed  a  man  didn't  starve 
in  a  day.  Luckily,  opinions  vary.  But  no  matter, 
hand  it  here.  That  fire  at  last  does  act  like  business. 
Guess  it's  going  to  blaze  some  after  all!" 

I  watched  him,  an  anxious  thought  in  mind.  He 
did  as  I  had  planned,  whipped  out  his  pocket  knife 
and  slashed  in  twain  the  cords.  But  even  as  he 
cut  them,  I  seized  him  roughly  by  the  arm. 
"Look!"  I  cried  and  pointed  lakewards.  He  started. 
"What!"  he  gasped  and  the  words  died  on  his  lips, 
for,  at  the  instant,  true  to  my  plans,  the  light  out  on 
the  lake  had  flashed.  He  had  seen.  "My  God!" 
he  exclaimed,  and  then  again,-— "My  God!"  It 
seemed  that  he  could  not  force  another  word  from 
his  lips. 

"Don't  you  see  it?"  I  fairly  shouted  with  com- 
pelled enthusiasm,  my  stratagem  paramount  in 
mind.  I  was  all  but  non-plussed  by  this  extraordi- 
nary behavior  of  his,  so  unexpected.  "Don't  you 
see  it,  sir;  don't  you  see  the  light— that  light  out 
there  on  the  lake?" 

He  brushed  a  hand  across  his  face  as  though 
brushing  away  cobwebs. 

"Is  this  a  dream?"     I  heard  him  softly  articulate 


ONAWAGO  251 

though  I  perforce  bent  closer  to  him  in  order  to 
catch  his  words. 

"Not  unless  I  too,  am  dreaming,"  I  made  answer. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  clutched  his  hand  gently 
within  mine — his  which  held  the  knife — and,  to  my 
surprise,  I  found  his  hand  colder  than  my  own  cold 
one  and  clammy  with  perspiration  and  the  fingers 
twitching  with  nervous  contortion.  Gradually  and 
unbeknown  to  him  I  eased  the  small  steel  prize  into 
my  own  grasp,  thence  slipped  it  into  the  ground  and 
buried  it  with  my  free  hand,  meantime  continuing 
my  discourse  upon  the  light. 

"It's  a  vessel,  Long,  a  small,  sailing  schooner,  a 
lumber-barge  mayhap.  She's  lain  out  there  be- 
calmed all  day.  See,  the  light  flashes  again!  It's  a 
feeble  ray  to  carry  up  no  better  than  that.  She's 
not  so  very  far  out,  either.  Perchance  a  few  miles,  I 
should  judge,  maybe  less.  Rather  close  ashore  to 
face  a  storm  from  that  quarter.  Chances  are  she'll 
have  a  tough  time  of  it  before  this  night  is  done." 

Almost  with  alarm  on  my  part,  I  found  Bruce 
momentarily  becoming  more  unnerved,  very  strange- 
ly, mysteriously  unnerved.  We  both  were  kneeling 
together,  close  beside  our  newly  kindled  fire,  whose 
warmth  was  dispelling  the  chill  from  my  lately  be- 


252  ONAWAGO 

numbed  limbs — crackling  furiously  much  too  near 
Long  for  his  comfort,  methought.  But  far  was  he 
from  noting  the  heat.  Instead  he  knelt  there  beside 
me,  my  hand  hold  of  his  arm,  my  voice  loud  in  his 
ear — knelt  there  more  like  unto  some  stony  image 
than  an  actual  living,  breathing  man.  He  leaned 
far  forward,  his  face  out-thrust,  hands  clenched,  arms 
clutched  at  his  sides,  their  muscles  rigid  and  a-trem- 
ble  with  some  unaccountable  emotion,  his  breath 
but  gasps.  For  a  fleeting  moment  I  confess  that  I 
bethought  me  of  treachery,  of  seizing  this  oppor- 
tunity, of  pinning  him  suddenly  to  earth  while  help- 
less in  this  strange  inebriation  of  his,  and — but  sud- 
denly he  thwarted  my  sinister  designs  by  springing 
to  his  feet  and  striding  rapidly  to  and  fro  across  the 
cleared  area  about  the  fire,  his  eyes  never  flinching 
from  off  that  intermittent  ray  of  light  out  on  the  lake. 
His  face  shone  ashy  gray  in  the  wan  beams  of  the 
firelight  and  the  moonbeams  as  they  alternately 
played  upon  him  in  his  pacing.  His  mouth  was 
downward  drawn;  the  left  corner  twitched  convul- 
sively. A  scowl  furrowed  his  fine  forehead.  His 
eyelids  narrowed  to  slits;  and  in  all,  not  only  his 
physiognomy,  but  his  entire  physical  delineation  was 
haggard;  his  cheeks  seemed  suddenly  to  have  sunken 


ONAWAGO  253 

away;  he  was  hollow-eyed;  his  lower  jaw  drooped 
dejectedly;  he  seemed  utterly  worn  out  with  not  only 
physical  but  also  mental  fatigue.  His  shoulders 
stooped,  and  although  his  pace  was  rapid  it  was  with 
a  slouching  gait  that  he  strode  restively  before  the 
fire. 

I  no  longer  withheld,  but  commenced  eating, 
sharing  with  Luxor  piece  by  piece,  and  dividing  my 
attention  betwixt  my  meal  and  Bruce  pacing  there 
several  yards  away,  oblivious  to  aught  but  yon  fickle, 
flickering  flame  out  on  the  lake.  I  had  finished  my 
scant  repast  before  he  somewhat  controlled  himself. 

"Dave,"  he  exclaimed  at  length  and  his  voice 
broke  huskily  and  without  modulation;  "Dave,  do 
you  believe  in  presentiment?  Do  you  believe  in 
warnings?  In  premonitions  which  come  whence  we 
know  not?  Do  you  believe  in  intuition  which 
augurs  impending  evil — feel  it,  yet  cannot  account  for 
its  presence,  for  its  influence  upon  you?  I'll  not 
venture  to  call  it  supernatural  manifestation.  I'll 
not  venture  to  call  it  anything.  But,  Bundy,  do  you 
believe  in  such  things?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  believe  I  do,"  I  replied  hesitatingly, 
wondering  at  his  questions. 

"Then  Dave,  surely  you'll  not  laugh  at  me  when 


254  ONAWAGO 

I  tell  you  that  I  saw  that  light  out  there  before  I  came 
here  tonight — yet  knew  better  than  to  credit  my  eye- 
sight. I've  seen  it  a  thousand  times  before  seeing  it 
tonight — seen  it  a  thousand  times  on  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent nights — yet  knew  better  than  to  credit  my  eye- 
sight. Dave,  boy,  I've  seen  that  light  all  my  life — 
and  knew  better  than  to  credit  my  eyes.  But 
now  that  you  too  see  it  out  there,  I  know  that  it  at 
last  is  there  in  reality.  Though  God  alone  knows 
why  it  is  there  in  reality.  For  myself  I  only  know 
that  it  bodes  something — something  which  surely 
touches  me,  touches  my  very  existence  perhaps. 
God  will  that  it  be  so!  Oh  my  God!"  and  aston- 
ished I  saw  him  raise  his  face  and  hands  heavenward. 
"Oh  my  God!  Help  me  through  this  night,  I  be- 
seech thee!  Check  her  that  she  may  be  powerless  to 
wreak  further  vengeance  upon  the  one  who  comes!" 

"But,  ah,  gads,  Bundy,  this  seems  blasphemy  to 
invoke  divine  assistance  against  such  occultism  as 
hers.  Would  that  I  had  known  how  to  prepare  for 
this  ordeal  beforehand;  she  should  not  now  be 
seated  within  the  stronghold  of  her  invulnerable 
power.  Curse  her!  and  I'm  careless  that  she  hears!" 
though  his  voice  sank  low  with  the  final  sentence. 

"I'm  not  raving,  Bundy.     This  is  not  depravity 


ONAWAGO  255 

which  causes  these  words  and  actions  of  mine,  words 
and  actions  which  are  meaningless  to  you;  far  from 
it,  man!  Suppose,  for  one  instant,  that  you  stood 
in  my  shoes;  suppose  you  knew  not  your  earthly 
equity  to  exist;  suppose  you  were  hampered  and 
governed  by  such  a  one  as  she— would  you  not  hate 
her?  Rebel  against  her?  Strive  to  rid  yourself  of 
her?  For  all  my  hatred  she  only  laughs  and  con- 
tinues to  command  me  more!  Great  Lord!  Won't 
I  ever  taste  freedom! " 

Then  after  an  interval  of  silence,  he  went  on: 
"Last  night  they  burned  my  "medicine,"  Bundy. 
Something  cannot  but  be  the  outcome  of  that  das- 
tardy  trick  of  Francois.  You  sacriligious  scoun- 
drel!" and  he  whirled  upon  the  helpless  Breeds. 
"I've  a  smart  notion  to  balance  accounts  with  you 
right  here."  Then  he  smiled  in  a  satisfied  sort  of 
way.  "But  even  so  perchance  we'll  come  out  even 
in  the  end.  Here,  now  stand  up  there,  Dominique. 
Wait  a  minute.  Francois,  now  you.  Don't  you 
dare  offer  to  balk.  You're  the  one  whom  I  most 
dearly  love,  so  I  forewarn  you  to  step  gingerly  on 
my  toes  henceforth.  Now  both  of  you  move.  Turn 
about  there  and  march.  Lively  now.  No  more 
dilly-dallying  with  me.  Understand?  Good-night!" 


256  ONAWAGO 

For  he  had  with  their  own  knives  cut  their 
ankle  thongs  and  assisted  each  in  turn  to  his  feet, 
though  he  refrained  from  releasing  their  hands. 
With  difficulty  they  retained  their  standing  equilib- 
rium during  a  few  moments  stamping,  endeavoring 
to  start  the  circulation  in  their  deadened  lower 
limbs.  He  complaisantly  resheathed  their  knives  in 
their  belts,  though  while  he  handled  them  my  heart 
stood  still,  fearful  that  he  should  detect  the  absence 
of  his  own  knife,  but  fortune  favored  me. 

The  Breeds  gone,  Long  returned  to  me. 

"Bundy,  my  brain's  a-whirl  and  seems  a-blaze. 
I  feel  though  that  I'm  to  win  out  in  this  matter.  For 
all  that  I'm  determind  to  and  when  a  man  is  de- 
termined, it's  half  winning  the  game.  Seems  that 
I  can't  compel  my  eyes  to  leave  that  light  out  there 
for  an  instant.  It  draws  me  with  singular  fascination. 
Gash,  but  the  storm's  waxing  mightier  every  minute! 
See,  it's  almost  upon  us;  yet  those  clouds  up  there 
seem  to  hesitate  and  slink  back  over  the  water  as 
though  dreading  to  sweep  ashore.  Wish  they  might 
see  fit  to  keep  hesitant.  Remarkable  how  they  do 
perform  up  there  now.  Notice  how  they  rise  and 
revolve  over  one  another,  then  charge  backward  into 
themselves." 


ONAWAGO  257 

I  gazed  aloft.  The  whirling,  writhing  mass  of 
blue-black,  white  crested  wind-clouds  strung  in  a 
gigantic  ribbon  from  north  to  south,  were  sweeping 
from  the  west  at  a  terrific  speed.  But  as  Bruce  had 
declared,  they  evinced  reluctancy  to  encounter  the 
land;  for  they  seemed  to  rise  perceptibly,  whirling 
and  revolving  in  a  churn-mass,  then  charge  back- 
ward upon  their  own  ranks.  I  knew  that  this 
maneuvering  might  last  some  several  minutes.  I 
had  known  former  storms  to  perform  likewise,  even 
to  disband,  in  order,  as  it  were,  to  muster  additional 
force  for  some  sudden,  stupendous  onslaught. 

Meanwhile  Bruce  talked. 

"All  signs  have  foretokened  this  storm  for  some 
days  past.  Rings  have  appeared  nightly  around  the 
moon;  last  night  a  strikingly  vivid  one,  though  you, 
Dave,  could  not  see  it  from  the  hollow  because  of 
the  midnight  mists.  The  sun  has  set  repeatedly  with 
after-glows.  Vast  displays  of  nebula  have  covered 
the  heavens  at  times.  The  old  lake  out  there  has 
lain  a  deep  indigo,  today  streaked  with  long  threads 
of  jet  black— a  bad  sign.  Wild  geese  hurried  south- 
ward all  day  today.  I'll  not  be  surprised  at  a  cold 
snap.  Indian  summer  generally  manages  to  end 
with  just  such  a  storm.  Moccasin  told  me  several 


258  ONAWAGO 

days  ago  that  it  was  due  before  long,  and  that  it  was 
to  be  a  big  one.  I  presume  he  has  scores  of  signs 
foretelling  weather  of  which  we  have  no  knowledge. 
Well,  I  know  he  can  predict  almost  to  a  surety  a 
cold  winter  from  an  open  one  by  fox-fur,  by  a 
goose's  breast-bone,  by  the  leaves  on  an  oak  tree,  by 
crows  and  jay  birds  and  a  dozen  other  animals. 
Then,  Bundy,  if  all  such  things  may  be  counted  on, 
how  about  dreams  and  presentiments,  hallucina- 
tions, optical  illusions  and  day  visions?  How 
about  them,  Dave?  Can't  a  man  count  on  these 
just  as  likely  as  on  the  bodings  of  nature?  That  rag- 
ing storm  out  there  has  been  prognosticated  by  a 
half  hundred  phenomena.  Then  why  in  the  name 
of  common  sense,  has  not  yonder  light  been  preor- 
dained as  well?  Why,  Bundy,  I've  been  pestered 
all  my  life  by  that  flashing,  wavering  will-o-the-wisp 
out  there.  Many  the  night  have  I  watched  among 
these  hills — generally  from  the  mountain  top  up 
there — watched  throughout  the  long  tedious  hours  of 
darkness  till  dawn— till  daylight  came  and  revealed 
my  delusion,  my  chimera,  my  hallucination  or  what- 
ever it  may  have  been;  for  just  so  long  as  dark- 
ness would  prevail,  that  flickering,  wavering  will-o- 
the-wisp  would  stand  out  there  across  the  waters  and 


ONAWAGO  259 

flash  and  flicker  and  beckon  to  me  night  after  night, 
until  once  I  actually  did  put  out  to  sea  in  one  of 
these  birch  bark  cockle-shells,  intent  upon  following 
the  false  flame.  I  did  follow  it,  but  daylight  over- 
took me.  My  quest  awarded  naught.  And  now 
but  that  you  see  it  with  your  eyes,  I  would  fain  dis- 
credit my  eye-sight  as  of  old.  What  shall  be  the  con- 
sequences of  its  appearance  now  in  actually,  God 
alone  may  know.  Would  that  I  did!  There's  more 
than  her  infernal  machinations  afoot  tonight, 
Bundy,  for  I  feel  somehow  that  just  as  sure  as  there's 
a  God  in  heaven,  Dave,  that  more  infinite  power 
than  her's  shall  be  manifested  before  this  night  is 
out." 


260  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  BROW-VEIL 

«T  HAD  a  most  singular  experience  while  on  my 
•*•  way  from  the  East,  Dave.  It  occurred  in 
Detroit.  It  was  the  day  of  my  arrival  there  after  a 
tedious  trip  aboard  ship  across  Lake  Erie.  I  had 
just  landed  my  horse— my  saddler,  you  know— when 
I  bethought  me  that  a  little  canter  might  enliven  my 
spirits  after  the  fatigue  of  the  voyage. 

"I  had  ridden  about  town  a  goodly  while,  when, 
toward  late  afternoon  I  passed  a  gentleman  and  lady 
driving  behind  a  spirited  team.  The  man  wore  a 
military  uniform;  the  woman  wore  a  heavy  black 
veil  drooped  to  her  eyebrows.  I  noticed  nothing 
more;  thought  nothing  more  of  the  matter. 

"Probably  an  hour  or  so  later  I  was  near  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  Glancing  into  a  side  street,  I 
saw  in  the  distance  ahead,  in  the  center  of  the  square, 
people  congregated  and  in  evident  excitement  over 
something  in  their  midst.  The  crowd  had  collected 
near  the  foot  of  a  gigantic  sycamore  tree — the  hollow 


ONAWAGO  261 

trunked  sycamore  in  which  tradition  claims  Pontiac 
established  his  headquarters  during  his  siege  of  the 
fort.  Thinking  it  over  since,  the  location  of  the  ac- 
cident impressed  me  as  strikingly  remarkable. 

"I  galloped  up  to  the  crowd  and  inquired  the 
cause  for  the  same.  A  woman,  a  man  informed  me, 
had  been  thrown  out  of  a  carriage  and  stunned, 
though  otherwise  not  seriously  injured.  The  horses 
had  shied,  the  man  informed  me,  at  the  giant  syc- 
amore, acting  as  though  they  had  seen  something 
that  violently  startled  them.  My  informant,  himself, 
he  stated,  had  been  an  eyewitness,  and  though  he 
observed  carefully,  he  had  failed  to  notice  anything 
that  could  have  alarmed  them.  I  learned  further- 
more, that  the  man  and  woman  were  strangers  there- 
abouts. I  considered  the  affair  lightly  and  after  en- 
deavoring to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  woman,  in 
which  I  failed  because  of  the  size  of  the  crowd,  I 
rode  away. 

"Meanwhile,  I  decided  to  remain  a  day  or  two 
in  Detroit  before  riding  across  the  state.  The  even- 
ing of  the  following  day  I  met  my  interlocutor  of  the 
accident  on  the  street  and  accosted  him,  bent  upon 
inquiring  of  the  woman's  recovery,  or  whether  her 


262  ONAWAGO 

swoon  had  materialized  into  anything  passing 
serious. 

'  'Par's  I  know  she  came  out  o'  it  all  sound  enough,' 
he  said.  Gads,  I'll  remember  his  very  words  to  my 
grave!  'But  I  can  tell  you,  sir,'  he  went  on,  'there's 
something  mighty  baffling  erbout  that  there  woman. 
They  as  tended  her,  helping  in  reviving  her,  swear 
that  she  had  a  most  mysterious  brand  on  her  for'- 
head.  Comely  enough  woman,  they  as  know  say, 
excepting  for  that  bafflin'  brand  o'  her'n. 

"A  brand?'  I  inquired,  'what  sort  of  a  brand 
was  it,  sir?'  And  I  could  with  difficuty  control  my 
voice  in  my  anxiety. 

'  Tattooing,'  he  answered,  'Yes,  they  thatknow, 
claim  she  was  tatooed  on  her  for'ead,  a  right  clever 
piece  o'  tatooin' — an  eye,  it  was,  they  claim,  sir;  a 
human  eye— an*  thet  she  wore  the  veil  to  keep  folks 
from  seeing  it  there.  Folks  air  doin'  some  talking, 
sir,  I  warrant  ye  thet.' 

"Bundy,  you  can  well  imagine  the  effect  of  his 
words  upon  me.  But  I  managed,  none  the  less,  to 
conceal  their  effect  and  continued  questioning  him 
in  the  matter.  But,  Dave,  though  I  drained  every 
clue  to  its  dregs,  the  gist  of  all  the  information  I 
ever  succeeded  in  procuring  was  simply  that  she  as 


ONAWAGO  263 

well  as  the  man  had  been  total  strangers  in  Detroit  and 
that  immediately  after  the  accident,  they  had  em- 
barked on  a  small  sailing  schooner  bound  to  the 
head  of  Lake  Michigan.  That's  all  I  know,  Dave, 
but  since  then,  that  light  out  there  has  haunted  me 
waking  or  asleep.  God,  but  that  this  night  were 
ended!" 


264  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  WOLF. 


f  C  A  ^^  one  *hm£  more,  Dave,"  he  went  on, 
•*"*-  "what  the  deuce  might  Martha  have  meant 
tonight  when  she  asked  me  the  last  thing  upon  re- 
tiring —  asked  me  about  some  track  or  something  ly- 
ing in  the  forest.  What  the  devil  could  the  girl 
have  been  driving  at?" 

"Tell  me,  Bruce,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  tell 
me,  man,"  and  I  could  not  repress  an  awful  anxiety, 
"has  she  mentioned  my  absence  —  has  she  seemed  to 
miss  me—  does  she  show  in  any  way  any  sorrow?" 

He  framed  with  his  lips  a  calculating  smile,  and 
hesitating  deliberately  revelled  in  my  ingenious 
solicitude. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  at  length  he  answered. 
"What  right  have  you  to  expect  concern  on  her 
part?  Why  should  she  grieve  for  her  father's  murder- 
er? Far  less,  even  breathe  a  syllable  of  his  despic- 
able name?  God  forbid  that  she  should!  No,  Dave, 
I  doubt  that  she  has  —  should  scarce  think  she  should 


ONAWAGO  265 

— should  far  less  expect  her  to,  if  I  were  you.  No, 
decidely  no!  I  doubt  if  she  gives  your  absence 
second  thought.  I  should  little  expect  it  of  her." 

A  blow  from  him  would  have  stunned  me  less. 
My  senses  reeled  for  a  moment  madly,  but  withal 
their  reeling,  I  glimpsed  the  light. 

"Look  ye  here,  Long,"  I  blurted  out  finally  with 
flashing  ire,  "I  warn  you  not  to  maliciously  lie  thus 
to  me — me  who  am  here  virtually  impaled  on  your 
talons,  as  you  were  wont  to  put  it  last  night.  You 
can't  make  me  believe  that  she  minds  not  my  ab- 
sence, she  whom  I  have  known  every  moment  for 
ten  years,  she  who's  more  than  sister,  more  than  life 
to  me  for  aught  of  your  braggart  deceit  last  night — 
you  can't  tell  me  that  Martha  has  not  wondered  at 
my  prolonged  absence.  Why,  man,  'tis  the  longest 
we've  ever  been  separated  since  knowing  one 
another — since  that  night  you  stole  me  from  the 
house  and  brought  me  to  these  hills.  And,  if  as  you 
say,  she  has  not  mentioned  my  absence  to  you,  then 
she's  aware  of  more  than  either  of  us  credit  her  with 
knowing. 

I  saw  him  flinch  beneath  my  countering  blow. 

"Bundy,"  and  his  voice  trembled,  "you're  right, 
I  do  believe.  You've  merely  confirmed  my  own 


266  ONAWAGO 

suspicions.  What  she  meant  by  that  damned  track 
lying  in  the  forest  is  far  from  me  to  understand.  But 
there's  something  afoot,  I've  no  room  to  doubt.  Old 
Moccasin  is  alive  and  awake,  or  else  I'm  a  numskull 
worse  than  a  fool.  Bundy,  tonight  is  to  witness 
more  than  either  of  us  dare  dream.  What's  that, 
Bundy!  Look! — See  it?  Over  there,  over  across  on 
the  low  white  slope  of  the  sand  ridge — see  it?  That 
dark  object  there?  See  it  move?  See  it  slink  down 
hill  with  the  sliding  sand?  Tell  me,  Bundy,  what  is 
it,  man  or  beast?" 

"A  brute  forsooth,  in  either  case,"  I  replied, 
striving  for  evasion.  One  of  the  Breeds,  methinks, 
spying  upon  us  here  at  our  fire,  or  mayhap  a  prowl- 
ing wolf  or  bob-cat  lured  by  our  fire." 

"I  was  a  fool  to  ever  light  it!"  Bruce  fairly 
growled,  so  guttural  was  his  ejaculation.  "It's  spying 
in  either  case,  and  Bundy,  I  again  repeat  that  I  don't 
fancy  the  taste  of  what's  afoot  tonight.  See,  the 
thing's  slipped  down  hill  and  into  the  brush.  I  don't 
like  the  guise  of  the  thing;  it's  not  always  a  wolf  that 
skulks  in  a  wolf-hide  hereabouts.  No  sir.  It  don't 
taste  pleasantly  tonight.  That  light  out  there  got  my 
nerve— But  why  the  hell  do  I  tell  you  this!— why 
play  the  fool  every  word  I  utter!  Gash,  boy!  I've 


GNAW  AGO  267 

told  you  everything,  everything— confided  in  you 
like  some  fellow  counselor,  when,  in  fact,  you're  a 
prisoner.  Why  I've  confided  in  you  at  all,  every- 
thing is  beyond  accounting  even  to  myself;  perhaps 
because  you're  so  entirely  within  my  clutches  and  I 
distain  your  individual  power.  Furthermore,  I'm 
lonesome,  Bundy,  downright  lonesome,  and  I  don't 
care  a  whit  if  you  know  you're  the  sole  confidant  I 
have  on  this  earth  and  that  I've  probably  played  the 
fool  in  making  you  so;  but  those  are  cold  facts 
whether  you  appreciate  them  or  not  and  for  all  that, 
I'm  careless  one  whit  for  your  appreciation." 

Meanwhile  the  storm  out  over  the  lake  had  in- 
creased, had  approached  gradually  shorewards,  had 
congested  into  one  utter  black  mass  of  banked  cloud 
that  now  seemed  suddenly  to  surge  forward.  Pro- 
longed, distance-drowned  thunder  bore  upon  the 
night.  A  tremulous  flash  of  lightning  illuminated 
the  vast  breadth  of  darkened  waters.  A  trifling 
breath  of  air  came  now  for  the  first  time  off  the  lake, 
wafting  lithesomely  adown  the  hollow  to  us,  stirring 
gently  the  frost-crisped  foliage  that  hedged  us  round 
about.  A  few  leaves  quivered  and  parted  their  stems 
from  their  twigs,  and,  fluttering  to  earth,  rustled 
softly  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 


268  ONAWAGO 

At  the  same  time  there  sounded  a  light  patter  of 
feet  and  a  scurry  in  the  carpeted  leaves,  and  under- 
neath the  low  bushes  I  saw  a  cotton  tail  whisk  past. 

A  low  whine  and  a  short,  sharp  bark,  and  Luxor 
was  gone  from  my  side  and  a  moment  later,  from 
sight,  away  like  a  voracious  shadow.  For  a  few 
succeeding  seconds  his  voice  held  still,  and  then 
came  his  full,  deep-throated  bay  pealing  out  upon 
the  still  night  air  in  the  long-drawn,  ringing  and 
lingering  melodies  of  his  nature's  song  of  the  blood- 
lust,  pitched  in  deep  major  key. 

Together  we  sat  at  a  loss  whether  to  call  or  let 
him  go,  sending  his  heart's  call  echoing  through  the 
silent  and  shadowy  valleys  and  over  the  hills.  Al- 
ready 'twas  too  late  to  thwart  any  effect  that  might 
arise  now  because  of  this  break  of  his;  and  with  my 
own  summoning  whistle  sounding  now,  would  it 
serve  to  allay  or  goad  any  danger  lurking  for  us  un- 
seen? I  was  close  upon  the  point  of  risking  it  when 
a  twig  snapped  over  on  our  right,  and  glancing 
there,  I  beheld  a  few  yards  off,  Francois. 

He  stood  erect  and  motionless,  looking  at  me; 
and  one  hand  grasped  a  bunch  of  brush  behind 
which  I  surmised  that  until  now  he  had  lain  am- 
bushed, eavesdropping  upon  us.  I  nudged  Bruce, 


ONAWAGO  269 

and  he  with  instant  perspicacity,  followed  my  glance, 
and  himself  beheld  the  Breed.  With  an  angry  oath 
snarling  in  his  throat,  he  lurched  forward  to  his  feet, 
the  revolver  gleaming  in  his  outstretched  hand. 
Well  might  I  fear  an  eruption.  Francois,  facing 
Bruce,  seemed  to  quail  and  shrink  visibly — shrink 
like  some  feline  settling  for  a  spring.  At  the  same 
time  with  slothful  mien  he  slouched  forward  a 
pace.  A  truculent  grimace  seamed  his  dark,  sen- 
sual face  a  virulent,  rebellious,  insolent  leer  that 
rendered  his  malignant  visage  as  expressive  of  con- 
gested storm  as  yonder  growls  of  thunder.  Then 
for  an  instant  he  paused,  his  low-drooping  brow 
contracted  with  an  ominous  scowl,  a  malignant  curl 
to  his  upper  lip,  his  black  blood-shot  eyes  a-glitter 
with  hatred— and  for  that  moment,  while  he  paused, 
the  cast  of  that  dissolute  countenance  stamped  upon 
my  memory  the  most  pronounced  characterization 
of  malignancy  ever  my  lot  to  have  witnessed.  His 
left  hand  rested  significantly  upon  the  handle  of  his 
belt-hung  knife;  a  heavy  cudgel  he  clutched  in  his 
right;  and  his  entire  attitude  expressed  but  one  pur- 
pose— treachery  and  murder.  My  heart  quaked 
within  me  at  the  thought  of  the  possible  outcome  of 
this  scene. 


270  ONAWAGO 

During  the  while,  loud  and  lingering,  old  Lux- 
or's voice  broke  upon  the  night.  I  confess  that  for 
the  instant  that  Francois  and  Bruce  faced  one  an- 
other, a  dread,  hysterical  oppression  weighed  within 
me  and  a  stifling  sensation  surged  within  my  throat 
that  rendered  my  breath  an  exertion  and  myself 
weak  with  nervous  fear.  I  strove  vainly  to  muster 
my  recreUnt  powers;  I  cursed  inly  my  flagging 
strength  and  charged  myself  to  launch  forthwith  into 
this  impending  castastrophe.  And  for  aught  of  me,  „ 
it  seems  some  over-guarding  adverse  power  restrain- 
ed me,  for  on  a  sudden  and  on  this  instant,  I  be- 
came aware  of  some  other  nearby  presence — became 
aware  through  intuition— for  I  wheeled  half-about 
and  looking,  sat  frozen  to  the  ground,  powerless 
even  to  lift  so  much  as  a  finger.  A  needle  seemed 
to  pierce  even  my  eyeballs,  and,  traveling  through, 
multiply  itself  into  innumberable  points  that  distrib- 
uted themselves  throughout  me  in  a  travail  of 
shooting,  darting  threads  of  fire.  For  the  moment 
I  know  full  sure  that  I  lost  all  sensibility,  and  I 
know  that  I  sat  there,  glaring  into  those  ravenous 
eye-balls  that  glared  back  into  mine,  I  was  as  a  man 
half  dead  with  hynotic  charm,  for,  today,  it  all  seems 
but  some  sudden  transient  incubus  of  my  distorted 


ONAWAGO  271 

brain.  For  there  within  three  feet  of  me,  I  was 
glaring  at  two  unsightly  eye-cavities  back  of  which 
were  two  wildly  lighted  eye-balls  of  a  huge  gray 
wolf! 

Then,  with  an  awful  effort,  I  somewhat  regained 
mastery  over  myself. 

I  clambered  instantly  to  my  feet,  and  cowered 
before  this  terrible  creature,  that  doggedly  slunk  for- 
ward upon  me  as  I  moved  backward  from  it.  A 
panic  of  terror  strove  with  me,  battling  against  my 
restraining  will  power.  I  tried  to  cry  out  to  Bruce, 
but  my  voice  refused  utterance.  I  tried  to  ap- 
prise myself  of  his  attitude  in  this  scene,  but  my 
sight  refused  to  leave  its  pinioned  stare  upon  this 
loathsome  creature  at  my  feet,  brushing  now  almost 
against  me. 

A  creature  loathsome  and  terrible  it  verily  was; 
the  eyes  alight  with  fiendish  fire,  glittered  wolfish; 
the  loose,  shaggy  hide  was  wolfish;  but  far  other- 
wise than  wolfish  was  its  standing  attitude  and  its 
lolling,  shambling  gait  and  its  quaint  standing  post- 
ure. No  exertion  was  traceable  and  it  lolled  for- 
ward low  to  earth,  for  it  moved  with  well  nigh  the 
ease  and  grace  of  a  sliding  reptile,  though  without 
the  writhing;  more  like  some  object  of  animation 


272  ONAWAGO 

impelled  by  ulterior  force.  Though  huge  and 
square,  it  was  short,  broad  and  ill-proportioned;  a 
creature  withal  repulsive,  uncanny  and  horrible.  I 
could  but  recoil  before  it,  my  gaze  still  riveted  upon 
those  unsightly  eyes. 

Then  something  seemed  suddenly  to  give  way, 
to  burst  within  my  brain,  to  explode  with  a  loud  re- 
port. A  dull  whirring  sound  began  revolving  in  my 
ears.  Gray  fog  of  tangible  thickness  seemed  about 
me.  I  recall  that  which  followed  as  might  some 
maniac  the  scenes  and  horror  enacted  during  an  at- 
tack of  violent  raving.  I  remember  dimly  of  edging 
into  the  encircling  brush,  still  retreating  before  that 
loathsome  creature.  I  remember  a  strange  frenzy 
seizing  me — a  frenzy  to  flee.  Thenceforward  the 
few  fleeting  moments  is  a  blank  in  my  mind.  I 
remember  not  at  all,  neither  do  I  recall  anything 
that  occurred.  But  the  next  recollection  of  mine  is 
that  of  tearing  and  pushing  my  way  through  an  en- 
tanglement of  vegetation,  of  breaking  through 
bushes  and  rending  a  passage  through  the  tenacious 
rope-like  ivies  and  vines  that  in  confusion  draped 
well  nigh  everything,  living  or  dead;  that  I  seemed 
amid  prison  walls  of  green  against  which  I  must 
needs  battle  and  beat  frantically  and  blindly,  re- 


ONAWAGO  273 

gardless  of  destination.  During  this  while,  without 
cessation,  rising  and  falling  in  undulating  volume,  a 
wild,  taunting  laugh  rang  through  the  air.  I  tripped 
and  fell.  A  heavy  body  pounced  upon  me  and 
pinned  me  down.  I  struggled  desperately  to  rise 
but  with  utter  futility.  I  strove  to  turn  myself  un- 
derneath this  adverse  weight,  but  sank  lower  than 
ever,  closer  to  the  earth,  exhausted;  and  I  detected 
labored  breathing  accompanied  by  a  guttural  laugh 
and  I  recognized  Dominique.  I  found  myself  be- 
reft of  motion,  unable  to  so  much  as  stir  a  limb. 
Something  clothlike  and  of  many  folds  muffled  my 
face,  blinding  me,  nigh  smothering  me  to  the  point 
of  strangulation.  Then  I  felt  myself  lifted  roughly, 
jostled  a  moment,  then  pitched  across  shoulders.  I 
knew  myself  carried  to  some  distance  before  being 
cast  hurtfully  and  violently  to  earth  and  abandoned 
to  what  fate  I  might  only  guess — ANTS! 


274  ONAWAGO 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  ANTS. 

,  the  horror  of  it  and  the  torture  of  it!  He 
only  may  know  who  has  endured  them — en- 
dured the  crawling  of  them  into  his  eyes,  into  his 
ears,  and  into  his  mouth,  the  crawling  of  them  into 
his  throat,  aye,  even  their  struggling  into  his  lungs! 
Only  he  who  has  suffered  the  torture  of  their  incisors 
piercing  his  skin,  the  prickling  of  their  sting-armed 
legs  over  his  body — only  he  of  such  experience  may 
know  the  horror  of  my  impending  doom. 

Rationality  returned  slowly.  I  lay  prone,  my 
face  buried  in  the  loose  soil  beneath  me.  Profound 
stillness  reigned  about  me  save  for  the  continuous 
claps  of  thunder  that  clashed  loudly  and  went  rip- 
pling away  into  distance.  I  lay  entwined  in  thongs, 
powerless  to  shift  myself  an  inch.  My  brain  throbbed 
with  surging  blood.  My  heart  beat  frantically  within 
my  chest.  My  breathing  was  with  utmost  difficulty. 
Hot  flashes  swept  over  me,  alternating  with  qualms 
of  nausea  and  chill.  A  blinding  glare  of  intense 


ONAWAGO  275 

light  shone  before  my  eyes.  Dull  rumbling  muttered 
constantly  in  my  ears,  broken  solely  by  the  actual 
mutterings  of  the  nearing  thunder.  Thus  through  it 
all  I  lay  and  listened  expectantly,  dreadfully,  for  the 
report  of  Long's  pistol  shot.  I  knew  to  a  full  surety 
that  as  yet  it  had  not  broken  upon  the  hollow's 
quietude.  I  could  but  wonder  how  things  were  with 
him. 

How  long  thus  I  lay  I  do  not  know.  I  have  no 
trace  of  time  save  through  the  raging  of  the  storm. 
It  broke  with  instant  and  intense  fury,  and  while  I 
lay  there,  I  knew  solely  through  hearing  that  it  waxed 
mighty  and  terrible.  A  veritable  down  pour  drenched 
me  through  and  through.  I  all  but  sank  unconscious 
beneath  its  onslaught.  Several  times  the  electricity 
tingled  through  my  blood  as  lightning  cracked  and 
struck  close  by.  The  constant  crashes  of  thunder 
reeled  my  brain  with  giddiness!  Wierd  phantasies 
toyed  with  my  imagination.  Time  and  again  I  won- 
dered were  I  numbered  with  the  dead — were  I  living, 
or  could  it  be  my  spirit  was  enduring  some  hateful 
torture.  Time  after  time  I  strove  and  with  partial 
success,  to  collect  my  full  senses  only  to  have  them 
drift  from  me  with  tantalizing  persistency. 

Yet  throughout  it  all  I  remained  sufficiently  con- 


276  ONAWAGO 

fident  as  to  my  sanity  to  feel  sure  that  no  shot  had 
been  fired  by  Bruce  Long. 

I  still  retained  an  impression,  faint  though  and 
intangible,  which  caused  me  to  believe  that  I 
drowsed,  for  what  length  of  time  I  do  not  know.  But 
well  do  I  recall  with  horror,  aye,  with  horror  that 
verged  to  madness,  that  suddenly  the  fiery,  reeking 
venom  of  a  snake  smote  my  nostrils,  a  fiery  irrita- 
tion that  cauterized  my  lungs,  turned  me  sick  at 
stomach  and  set  my  brain  wild  with  delirium.  I 
heard  its  rattle  close  beside  me  and  its  hiss  beside  my 
face.  Each  successive  second  I  lay  in  dread,  in 
dread  of  its  fangs  seeking  hold  in  my  flesh.  I 
writhed  in  awful  agony,  such  agony  as  elsewhere  I 
have  never  endured.  Its  rancor  filled  my  brain  to 
bursting  with  consuming  fire  and  a  fit  of  choking 
seized  my  throat — choking  which,  on  a  sudden, 
changed  to  strangulation,  tight  and  convulsing,  sap- 
ping my  life  with  a  sudden  wrench. 


ONAWAGO  277 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
THE  WRECK. 

A  DULL,  monotonous  sound  like  the  the  low 
-*•*•  crooning  of  winds  was  the  first  thing  that 
dawned  on  my  understanding.  Gradually  it  swelled 
in  volume  until  with  a  rush,  the  bellows  of  the  an- 
gered lake  were  loud  within  my  ears.  An  almost  un- 
governable longing  to  sleep  overswept  me,  I  fought 
awakening.  With  hazy  apprehension  I  felt  a  wave 
dash  into  my  face  only  to  sooth  strangely,  pleasantly. 
A  second  wave  washed  me,  then  I  opened  my  eyes. 

Utter  blackness  encased  me.  I  turned  myself  and 
glanced  in  each  direction  to  find  naught  but  this 
selfsame  darkness.  Involuntarily  I  reached  out  to 
thrust  it  from  me,  impelled  by  the  sense  of  its  den- 
sity, for  it  seemed  to  bear  with  stiffling  pressure 
upon  me.  I  smiled  to  myself  as  the  folly  of  this  im- 
pulse came  to  me  in  the  true  light. 

Yet  withal  a  delightful  ecstacy  thrilled  me.  I  was 
happy  in  the  extreme.  The  bellows  of  the  lake 
were  as  music  in  my  ears.  A  deafening  crash  of 


278  ONAWAGO 

thunder  that  went  rolling  in  long-drawn  reverber- 
ations above  me  was  for  me  but  amusement.  I 
laughed  outright  and  the  sound  of  my  laugh,  unnat- 
ural and  hoarse  as  it  was,  lugubrious  and  resembling 
more  some  madman's  cackle,  only  caused  me  to 
laugh  again  loudly,  hysterically.  As  I  laughed  this 
latter  time,  the  thunder  peal  had  drifred  into  the 
distance  and  merely  the  lake's  bellows  combated  its 
volume.  But  even  as  my  throat  yet  gurgled  in  my 
maniacal  frenzy,  a  startled  exclamation  that  bespoke 
gladness,  sounded  above  me,  and  someone  knelt  be- 
side me,  two  hands  fondly  found  my  own  and 
pressed  them  close,  Two  lips  lightly  touched  my 
forehead  and  then  a  soft  cheek  lay  upon  mine,  while 
a  voice  wrung  with  tenderness  and  pathos,  spoke 
softly  to  me. 

"Ah,  Dave,  how  I  thank  God  that  you've  come 
to.  Oh,  if  you  but  knew  how  I've  prayed  here  be- 
side you.  God  be  praised  that  you  live  and  are 
now  conscious!" 

I  answered  not.  Full  rationality  was  mine  now. 
My  heart  surged  within  my  bosom  as  I  silently 
breathed  a  word  of  thanksgiving  to  God;  and  reach- 
ing up,  my  arms  closed  her  in  my  embrace  and  I 
held  her  to  me  long  and  tenderly,  our  lips  pressed 


ONAWAGO  279 

close.  A  score  of  conflicting  passions  and  emotions 
played  upon  me.  Bruce  Long's  threats  and  insinu- 
ations jumbled  as  a  mass  into  my  mind  only  to  be 
expelled  instantly,  for  now,  Ah,  God!  I  knew  them 
as  liesl^ 

"Martha!"  I  whispered  after  a  time,  "Martha, 
Thank  God!" 

A  rough,  wet  tongue  licked  my  face.  As  I  spoke 
his  name,  I  reached  up  and  placed  an  arm  about  his 
long,  lean  body.  I  can  feel  him  yet,  how  he  res- 
ponded to  my  caresses,  how  he  staggered  clumsily 
against  me  and  hugged  me  close,  his  long  nose 
snuggling  at  my  neck,  one  paw  resting  across  my 
shoulder. 

"You  owe  him  everything,  Dave.  He  took  us 
to  you." 

"Took?"  I  asked.  "Us?" 

"Yes.  You're  not  now  where  we  found  you, 
Moccasin  and  I.  Moccasin  is  standing  here  in  the 
dark  beside  you,  Dave,  though  you  can't  see  him. 
It'll  lightning  in  a  minute,  then  look." 

Hardly  had  she  said  as  much  when  a  brilliant 
flash  swept  the  heavens,  quivering  an  instant  with  a 
blinding  glare.  But  during  its  glare  I  had  looked 
and  had  seen.  Scarce  ten  feet  away  Moccasin 


280  ONAWAGO 

stood  with  a  lofty  poise  to  his  admirable  stature, 
though  I  was  far  from  expecting  him  thus  regaled. 
His  arms  were  folded  across  his  breast;  grandeur  and 
dignity  were  expressive  throughout  him  as  a  whole, 
though  his  noble  brow  betrayed  a  pensible  droop 
and  this  droop  was  perchance  emphasized  by  the 
black  streaks  of  war  paint  that  crossed  and  recrossed 
one  another,  branching  from  between  his  shaggy 
brows.  Fierce  and  warlike  as  some  war-god  him- 
self might  well  be,  he  was  studying  me  with  almost 
terrifying  intensity  and  I  could  but  quake  for  a 
moment  beneath  his  savagery.  He  was  naked 
above  the  waist,  as  was  his  custom,  and  his  massive 
chest  glowed  crimson  with  paint.  A  long  plait  of 
his  hair  hung  across  one  shoulder.  A  solitary  eagle 
feather  leaned  awry  above  one  ear.  He  was  unarmed 
except  his  hatchet;  but  across  an  elbow  was  thrown 
what  I  instantly  recognised,  an  uncouth  imitation  of 
the  animal  himself,  the  beaver-skin  of  yesterday,  now 
dried  to  small  proportion,  and  stuffed  to  grotesque 
shape. 

A  second  flash  of  lightning  quickly  succeeded 
the  first  and  in  its  flare  his  eyes  found  mine.  A 
piercing  glitter  shot  from  their  black  depths  and  he 
changed  his  attitude  to  sudden  solicitation,  and 


The  Black  Bulk  of  a  Ship. 


ONAWAGO  281 

stooping  low  he  spoke  and  with  grave  monotone — 
and  never  shall  I  forget  one  syllable  of  his  deep 
throated  Pottawattamie. 

"Son  of  my  Brother,"  he  spoke,  "the  medicines 
of  the  red-men  are  at  war  tonight.  They  have  dark- 
ened the  face  of  the  moon  that  the  palefaces  may 
walk  where  their  eyes  cannot  find  the  path.  But 
the  eyes  of  a  Pottawattamie  see  in  the  dark.  His 
medicine  tells  him  where  he  shall  go.  It  tells  him  to 
fear  the  red-men's  medicines  which  are  at  war. 
They  also  tell  him  that  the  Son  of  my  Brother  is  in 
need  of  a  medicine,  that  he  needs  big  medicine, 
that  he  needs  it  very  much  and  that  it  must  be  big. 
The  medicines  of  Topinabe  are  good.  They  are 
big  and  of  great  worth.  The  Son  of  my  Brother 
needs  a  medicine.  IT  IS  HIS!" 

He  thrust  the  beaver-pelt  into  my  grasp  and  I 
felt  rather  than  discerned  in  the  darkness  that  he 
moved  from  above  me.  I  heard  Martha  softly 
laugh.  None  the  less  I  could  but  treasure  the  thing 
and  thrust  it  within  my  homespun  shirt  for  safe- 
keeping. 

"You're  as  superstitious,  Dave,  I  do  believe,  as 
Moccasin  himself.  He's  been  talking  incessantly 
about  medicine  the  whole  night  long.  You're  too 


282  ONAWAGO 

weak  yet  to  sit  up.  Don't  even  try.  This  is  a  good 
place  here.  We  may  as  well  stay  until  daylight 
anyhow.  We're  on  the  north  side  of  the  Hollow, 
right  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff  where  the  Hollow  opens 
on  the  beach.  The  bluff  partially  shields  us  from  the 
wind.  We  carried  you  here  from  where  we  found 
you,  or  rather  from  where  'Lux'  led  us.  We  heard 
his  bay  and  called  him  when  he  circled  near  us. 
Then  he  took  us  to  you.  I  honestly  believe  he's  as 
intelligent  as  some  people." 

"But  how  and  why  are  you  all  here,  Martha?  I 
can  scarce  believe  my  senses,  you  venturing  like 
this." 

"I  coaxed  Moccasin  to  come  with  me,  coaxed 
him  hard,  Dave,  before  he  would.  I  felt  sure  we 
would  find  you  here,  for  I  followed  Bruce  clear  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Hollow  tonight  alone.  Then  I 
went  back  after  Moccasin.  But  I  don't  see  into  it, 
Dave, — what  it's  all  about;  why  we  found  you  as 
you  were,  tied  to  an  ant-hill,  and  unconscious." 

"Was  there  anything,"  I  queried,  shuddering  at 
the  recollection,  "around  my  neck?" 

"Nothing  which  we  saw.     Why?" 

"Only  I  thought  perhaps  I  had  been  choked  with 
a  rope,"  I  replied  evasively. 


ONAWAGO  283 

"You  were  in  a  faint,  that  was  all,  though  for  a  long 
while  I  feared  you  were  dead.  We  revived  you 
with  water." 

So  were  explained  the  wave  dashes  in  my  face. 

"You're  a  dear,  brave  girl!"  I  whispered. 
"You've  saved  my  life.  I  owe  you  everything  and 
I — I  love  you,  Martha,  I  love  you!" 

"And  I  you,  my  poor  brave  boy,"  she  answered, 
and  my  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Then  after  a  moment 
"Where's  Bruce?"  she  asked.  And  she  reverted  so 
suddenly  from  me  to  him  that  my  heart  almost  mis- 
gave me. 

"God  alone  knows,"  I  answered  stoutly. 
"Heaven  trust  that  he  still  lives!" 

I  heard  her  catch  her  breath. 

"Is  he  .in  danger?"  she  exclaimed  in  a  startled 
whisper,  and  I  felt  her  hands  grow  cold  in  mine.  I 
strove  to  control  the  tremor  that  crept  into  my  voice 
as  I  admitted,  "He  was  when  last  I  saw  him." 

"Then  we  must  go  to  him  at  once,"  she  an- 
nounced determinedly.  "Where  is  he?" 

"Over  across  there  in  the  Hollow,"  and  I  pointed 
an  arm  in  the  darkness  but  a  flash  of  lightning 
showed  it  up. 

"Wait  then   till  we  return.     You're  too   weak  to 


284  ONAWAGO 

go  with  us.  Tell  us  his  location  as  best  as  you  can. 
Moccasin  can  find  the  place.  We'll  take  Luxor 
along.  We'll  come  back  to  you  as  soon  as  possible. 
Tell  us  now  just  where  you  left  him  for  we  must — " 

A  feeble  flash  played  upon  the  darkness — a  flash, 
but  not  of  lightning.  Instead,  out  over  the  lake,  a 
long  thread  of  fire  shot  upward,  curving  when  high 
in  the  air,  then  slowly  descending,  died  from  view. 

"A  rocket,  Dave!"  Martha  gasped.  "A  distress 
signal!  What  can  it  mean?" 

"It's  a  vessel,  Martha.  She's  lain  out  there,  be- 
calmed, all  day." 

Until  then  I  must  confess,  I  had  given  not  the 
slightest  heed  to  the  strength  of  the  storm.  Until 
now  I  had  failed  to  note  that  a  terrific  wind  was 
sweeping  past  us,  sweeping  in  off  the  lake,  though 
broken  in  part,  for  us,  by  the  protection  of  the  bluff 
above  us.  Lying,  as  I  was,  flat  upon  the  ground,  I 
had  not  felt  its  full  force  until  incited  by  the  rocket, 
I  suddenly  sat  upright.  The  full  blast  then  caught 
me  direct  and  I  could  with  difficulty  hold  myself 
against  the  fury,  until  with  an  arm,  I  propped  myself 
as  I  sat.  It  blew  against  my  face,  muffling  my  face 
as  it  were,  until  in  order  to  intake  breath  I  was  forced 
to  bend  low  and  shield  my  face  with  my  free  hand. 


ONAWAGO  285 

I  now  realized  for  the  first  time  that  a  storm  was  on, 
a  mighty  one,  that  a  gale  was  blowing  such  as  I  had 
seldom  seen,  though  Michigan  is  no  peaceable  body 
and  I  had  lived  on  her  shore  for  years. 

A  scant  rain  still  clung  in  the  air,  drizzling  along 
with  the  wind,  and  a  decided  chill  sent  a  shiver 
through  my  meager  clothing,  betokening  increasing 
coldness  for  the  weather  before  many  hours. 

Lighted  occasionally  by  the  lightning,  the  great 
Lake  lay  before  us  a  writhing  plain  of  white,  lashed 
into  endless  foam  and  white-crested  combers  which 
came  booming  shoreward,  bellowing  hoarsely  and 
rushing  headlong  upon  the  beach,  to  spread  out 
over  the  white,  gleaming  strand  and  to  recede  only 
in  part  till  some  fellow  wave  spent  in  turn  its  fury 
on  the  thirtsy  sand.  The  lightning  had  somewhat 
died  down  from  what  it  had  been  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  storm.  Thunder  answered  each  flash  but 
neither  so  loud  nor  lasting  as  previously,  in  that  the 
weather  had  changed  to  such  a  degree  of  coldness. 
Sand  and  small  gravel,  carried  along  by  the  wind, 
hissed  past  and  stung  and  bit  into  the  skin  as  it  struck 
the  hands  and  face,  and  I  could  but  marvel  how 
Moccasin  had  stood  there  so  calmly  with  his  unpro- 
tected back  to  the  gale  and  withstood  the  onslaught 


286  ONAWAGO 

of  the  stinging  grit.  Nor  had  I  appreciated  to  the 
slightest  degree  until  this  moment,  Martha's  fortitude 
in  thus  braving  the  tempest  and  rescuing  me  from 
my  recent  peril. 

Out  over  the  raging  waters  a  second  rocket  now 
arose,  and,  as  we  watched  it,  'twas  easily  discerned 
that  it  rose  nearear  than  the  former  one.  Another 
quickly  followed,  but  proved  the  last.  No  other 
came  though  we  waited  long  in  strained  expectancy. 
Long  we  waited,  I  say, — aye,  and  a  tedious  watch, 
as  well,  it  proved,  with  neither  of  us  venturing  a 
word,  until  after  an  age,  seemingly,  Martha  broke 
the  silence.  She  was  kneeling  close  beside  me, 
shielded  partly  by  me  from  the  wind.  As  she  spoke 
I  turned  to  her  during  a  lightning  flash,  and  never 
shall  I  loose  the  wild  beauty  of  her  as  I  remember  it 
to  this  day. 

A  small  red  shawl  clung  about  her  shoulders,  one 
end  loose  and  flapping  in  the  wind,  her  uncovered 
hair  blue-black,  streamed  straight  and  disheveled  by 
the  gale.  Her  arms  were  bared  to  the  shoulders, 
one  clinging  across  her  bosom  to  hold  in  check  her 
recreant  shawl,  while  her  other  reached  out  and 
clung  tenderly  to  me,  thrown  across  my  shoulder 
and  about  my  neck.  Her  face  was  flushed  in  her 


ONAWAGO  287 

excitement,  the  flush  of  her  cheeks  slowly  blending 
to  the  pallor  about  her  drawn  lips.  Her  eyes  shone 
wild  with  well-nigh  frenzied  light  as  she  gazed  out 
over  the  storm-tossed  sea,  and  as  she  interrupted  our 
prolonged  quiet,  her  voice  bore  to  me  through  the 
shriek  of  the  gale  in  but  a  harsh  whisper. 

"Think  you  she  can  live,  Dave?  Surely  no  craft 
can  for  long  endure  such  seas.  If  earthly  aid  can 
help  her — but,  ah,  me!  what  can  we  do!  That 
last  signal  was  nearer,  I  thought,  than  the  first. 
She's  blowing  ashore,  and  she'll  thrash  to  fragments 
in  such  a  surf.  Moccasin,"  she  announced  sud- 
denly, "we  must  find  Bruce." 

"  'Twere  impossible,"  I  protested,  "to  find  him 
such  a  night  in  such  a  jungle  as  this  about  us.  'Tis 
folly  to  consider  such  a  move.  Don't  bother  your- 
self. Bruce  is  able  to  care  for  himself.  Further- 
more, what  could  you  do  against — " 

"Look!"  she  shouted,  pointing  seaward,  "I  saw 
the  ship  that  flash!" 

Silence  fell  upon  us,  strained  breathlessness  dur- 
ing which  we  peered  through  the  darkness  out  across 
the  vast  plain  of  whitened  waters.  A  sheet  of  light- 
ning quivered  in  the  far  west,  and  out  upon  that 
mighty  breadth  of  pitching  billows,  I  glimpsed  for  a 


288  ONAWAGO 

fleeting  instant,  the  black  bulk  of  a  ship  tossed  high 
against  the  blackness  of  the  clouded  horizon.  Then 
darkness  closed  down,  and  we  saw  no  more. 

No  further  communication  passed  between  us. 
We  sat  immovable  and  dumb  as  the  speechless  bluff 
above  us.  Martha  merely  slipped  more  closely  to 
me,  but  now,  instead  of  one,  both  her  arms  clung 
about  me,  and  my  own  stole  out  and  about  her  and 
I  clasped  her  fondly  to  my  bosom.  For  once  I  con- 
fess I  was  mindless  of  the  tempest  and  its  intended 
victim. 

How  long  we  may  have  waited  I  dare  scarce  es- 
timate, but  I  recall  it  now  not  as  the  lapsing  of  time, 
but  rather  as  heart-breaking  stress  through  which  we 
waited  and  watched  and  listened  with  fear  and  anx- 
iety gnawing  within  us.  An  endless  waiting  we  en- 
dured until  at  length,  suddenly  a  violent  blaze  of 
electricity  flooded  the  heavens,  lingering  and  grad- 
ually diminishing  in  minor  flashes  and  flickerings, 
illuminating  for  several  moments  to  the  brightness  of 
day,  the  froth-crested  expanse  of  lake. 

But  during  its  brief  duration  we  had  witnessed 
that  which  sent  the  blood  cold  in  my  veins  and  my 
heart  heavy  with  depressing  ache,  yet  held  me  with 
intense  fascination.  For  close  upon  us,  close  upon 


ONAWAGO  289 

the  beach  and  close  upon  destruction,  scarce  sixty 
rods  from  the  shore  line,  the  doomed  vessel  was 
rearing  and  careening  upon  the  rollers,  flinging  her- 
self high  in  sharp  silhouette  against  the  electric  blaz- 
oned heavens.  She  was  drifting  broadside  on  and 
her  spars  loomed  tall  and  square  in  grim  outline 
against  the  sky.  She  was  a  small  barque,  a  schooner 
common  to  the  lakes,  a  type  of  lumber  transport- 
ation still  in  usage.  Merely  a  plaything  she  seemed 
in  the  grip  of  the  waves,  a  cripple  at  the  mercy  of 
some  invisible  foe.  She  had  lifted  over  the  third 
sand  bar,  but  the  huge  rollers  had  driven  her  hard 
upon  the  second  where  she  now  lay  floundering  and 
battering  upon  the  surf.  Her  rigging  seemed  still 
intact,  though  each  comber  washed  across  her,  and 
in  the  glare  of  the  flickering  lightning  I  descried  one 
figure  dangling  at  the  mast;  and  so  defined  was  it 
that  I  saw  'twas  not  the  figure  of  a  sailor  or  that  of  a 
man.  Rather  I  saw  to  a  certainty  her  dress  and  her 
dangling  hair.  God!  Could  she  survive!  Then 
slowly  the  lightning  died  away  in  a  few  faint  flickers 
and  no  more  followed  to  apprise  us  of  her  condi- 
tion except  one  single  feeble  glimmer  that  came 
after  a  time  and  revealed  to  us  the  schooner  lying 


290  ONAWAGO 

heavily  upon  her  side  with  her  spars  and  rigging  no 
longer  rearing  against  the  sky. 

That  we  waited  with  heavy  silence  upon  us  is  to 
say  the  least.  During  the  while,  the  chill  of  the  air 
grew  to  piercing  cold,  bringing  with  it  instead  of  the 
scant  drizzle,  a  stinging  sleet  which  drove  against  us 
in  our  unprotected  state.  Together  in  a  close  hud- 
dle, Martha  and  I  bent  beneath  the  gale's  blasts.  How 
I  withstood  it  well  as  I  did  I  cannot  say.  How  the 
torture  of  it  all  remains  as  a  blank  in  my  memory  is 
more  than  I  can  understand,  for  aught  that  I  recall 
of  it  is  of  crouching  there  close  to  earth  and  en- 
during it  with  the  patience  of  a  dumb  brute.  I  re- 
member that  after  an  endless  time,  at  length  I  raised 
my  head  from  out  the  protecting  shelter  of  my  arms 
and  found  that  the  gray  dawn  was  creeping  into  the 
east,  and  that  the  storm  had  broken;  and  through  the 
rifted  clouds  as  they  swiftly  sailed  by,  I  glimpsed 
anon  the  paling  moon  low  in  the  west.  A  semi- 
indistinct  twilight  played  upon  the  strand  before  us 
and  upon  the  hills  in  our  rear,  though  the  Hollow 
still  brooded  in  heavy  gloom.  'Twas  a  ghostly, 
wierd  half-light,  rendered  more  ghostly  still  by  a 
thin  coating  of  snow  that  lay  sifted  over  the  cold- 
gripped  earth.  The  wind  had  died  down  consider- 


ONAWAGO  291 

ably  and  only  a  few  scattering  flakes  now  drifted 
through  the  air. 

The  wave-clamor  was  nigh  deafening.  From  far 
back  amongst  the  hills  resounded  the  angry  bellow. 
All  along  the  reach  of  the  low  shore  line  they  thun- 
dered, flinging  themselves  desperately  upon  the 
beach  and  roaring  with  ponderous  accents;  while  out 
across  the  mighty  bosom  of  the  Great  Lake,  the 
enormons  billows  lifted  and  tossed  themselves  high  in 
fantastic  silhouette  against  the  rifted  clouds  of  the 
western  horizon. 

Martha  slept  in  my  arms.  I  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
her  forhead,  then  turned  in  search  of  Moccasin.  He 
was  nowhere  near,  and,  for  a  long  time,  I  gazed  in 
all  directions  in  quest  of  him  before  I  at  last  brought 
him  into  view,  indistinct  in  the  half  twilight,  far 
downshore  and  kneeling.  Luxor  stood  beside  him, 
but  I  was  unable  to  make  out  that  which  they  gave 
their  attention — something  outstretched  upon  the 
sand.  But  even  as  I  bent  my  interest  upon  them, 
from  close  to  the  foot  of  the  bluff  behind  them,  two 
figures  stole  out  upon  the  beach. 

I  recognized  the  Breeds.  As  they  discerned 
Moccasin  they  paused,  and  I  could  see  them  turn 
to  one  another,  and,  standing  close,  converse  for  a 


292  ONAWAGO 

moment  together,  then  as  with  apprehension  I 
watched  them,  they  cautiously  slouched  back  to  the 
base  of  the  bluff  where  they  seemed  screened  from 
my  view  by  a  clump  of  small  poplar. 

Meanwhile  I  had  awakened  Martha,  and  well 
could  we  afford  to  loose  no  time  in  going  to  Moc- 
casin. Dread  of  the  Breeds  filled  me  with  grave 
concern.  But  as,  after  a  while,  the  two  of  us  came 
up  to  Moccasin,  I  discerned  instantly  their  bent  in 
spying  thus  upon  him  as  he  knelt  upon  the  sand. 

Lying  in  piteous  attitude  upon  the  beach, 
a  woman's  body  had  been  cast  by  the  waves.  As  I 
dropped  upon  my  knees  beside  her,  horror-struck 
with  the  tragedy  of  the  thing,  I  saw  at  once  she  was 
but  middle-aged  and  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  Her 
drenched  clothing  wrapped  close  her  well  molded 
form.  She  was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  across 
her  death-pallored  brow  still  draped  a  heavy  veil, 
in  position  perfect  as  in  life.  I  lifted  carefully  and 
reverently  its  thickness  and  could  but  start  as  the 
miniature  eye — black,  glittering  and  feverishly  blood- 
shot—glared into  mine.  I  heard  Martha  cry  in 
surprise  and  wonder,  and  the  usually  apathetic  Moc- 
casin uttered  a  low  grunt  as  he  looked  down  upon 
the  dreaded  emblem.  Then  I  gently  released  the 


ONAWAGO  293 

veil  and  it  fell  back,  to  guard  its  secret  once  more. 

"I  would  to  God  I  knew  where  to  find  Bruce," 
I  added  after  a  pause. 

"He  bears  this  same  mark  upon  his  chest,"  sug- 
gested Martha  softly.  "What  can  it  mean?" 

"Naught  but  that  this  woman  is  none  other  than 
his  mother,"  I  ventured  conclusively. 


294  ONAWAGO 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  INSCRIPTION. 

T  .  REMAINED  kneeling  for  some  little  time, 
•*•  Martha  opposite  me,  between  us,  the  dead 
woman,  and  Moccasin  silent  and  stern  on  my  right. 
Suddenly  I  saw  her  bend  close  over  the  victim  of  the 
waves — bend  close  in  order  that  her  eye-sight  might 
penetrate  the  confusing  gloom  of  prescient  dawn. 
Her  fingers  fumbled  at  the  woman's  throat.  An  in- 
stant later  she  handed  across  to  me  a  chain  and  a 
locket  of  gold.  I  took  it,  examined  it,  pried  at 
opening  it,  then  gave  it  back  without  comment. 

"I  can  feel  writing  upon  it,  Dave,"  she  exclaimed, 
awed  tremor  in  her  voice,  "the  thing's  neither 
hinged  nor  does  it  clasp. .  I  believe  its  solid  and 
does  not  open.  Engraving  covers  the  entire  out- 
side. Oh,  that  this  light  were  stronger  that  we 
might  read!" 

"Come,  Moccasin,  I  directed.  We  must  carry 
her  to  some  better  shelter  than  this.  Back  there 
where  we  just  spent  the  night,  back  there  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Hollow,  will  be  the  most  suitable  spot 


ONAWAGO  295 

of  any  around  here.  Lend  a  hand,  Moccasin,  and 
help  me." 

Solemnly  we  gathered  her  between  us  and  slowly 
trudged  back  to  the  gap  on  the  bluff.  Wreckage 
everywhere  lay  strewn  along  the  shore.  I  surveyed 
the  tumultuous  waves  where  the  vessel  had  gone  to 
pieces  upon  the  bar,  and  naught  but  a  ragged  snag 
of  bulwark  lifted  to  view  above  the  combers. 

In  an  ordinary  run  of  weather  the  creek,  as  it 
emerged  from  out  the  dense  foliage  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Hollow,  generally  sank  its  waters  into  the 
loose  sand  of  the  beach;  but  this  morning,  flush  with 
last  night's  heavy  rains,  it  swept  from  out  the  gully 
in  a  veritable  river,  emptying  its  muddy  flow  directly 
into  the  lake.  We  were  close  to  the  south  of  it,  on 
the  same  bank  that  my  recent  strange  experiences 
had  transpired.  Although  I  knew  we  were  but 
shortly  from  the  spot  of  my  captivity,  the  spot  where 
last  I  had  seen  Bruce,  I  could  come  to  no  determin- 
ation as  to  what  effort  it  were  best  to  put  forth  in 
order  to  find  him  and  apprise  him  of  this  grim 
tragedy  of  the  storm.  Whether  to  call,  whether  to 
wait  till  daylight,  or  whether  to  start  search  for  him, 
— search  that  darksome,  horror-infected  gully  with 
this  wierd  semi-light  hovering  over  all,  and  this  thin 


296  ONAWAGO 

sift  of  snow  besides,  search  its  all  but  impenetrable 
thickets  with  danger  and  hostility  lurking  within 
every  bush — I  recoiled  inwardly  at  the  thought. 
Yet  how — for  he  must  be  found!  I  nerved  myself 
for  the  ordeal.  I  turned  and  addressed  Moccasin, 
consulting  him  and  asking  his  assistance. 

"Let  the  other  pale-face's  medicine  save  him  if 
he  will,"  he  returned  doggedly.  "His  own  medi- 
cine is  big,  though  it  is  bad,  Has  not  the  Son-of- 
my-Brother  seen  enough  to  satisfy  his  young  heart 
for  one  night?  Must  he  still  walk  the  same  paths 
walked  by  those  of  bad  medicine?  If  he  must,  then 
even  the  mighty  medicines  of  the  great  Topinabe 
may  not  save  him  from  his  enemies.  If  he  must, 
then  let  him  go.  But  the  medicines  of  the  Potta- 
wattamies  like  not  to  be  sport  for  the  accursed  of 
the  Miamas." 

"Look  here,  Moccasin,"  I  retorted,  provoked 
at  his  obstinacy,  "let  me  ask  you  this:  Is  the  ghost 
of  a  Miama  more  powerful  than  the  spirit  of  an  Ot- 
tawa? Can  the  ghosts  of  two  Miamas  be  more 
powerful  than  the  spirit  of  one  Ottawa,  if  the  spirit 
of  that  Ottawa  be  the  spirit  of  the  greatest  warrior 
your  people  ha*ve  ever  known.  Answer  me! 
Which  is  the  stronger?" 


ONAWAGO  297 

"There  is  but  one  Ottawa  who  ruled  among  my 
people  and  was  mighty,"  he  replied.  "And  the 
Otter  was  not  accursed.  Instead  the  Manitou's  ears 
were  always  open  to  his  councils.  He  uttered  the 
laws  of  the  Great  Spirit  and  understood  the  voice  of 
the  thunder.  The  Otter  hated  the  Miamas.  They 
were  a  tribe  of  cowardly  curs.  But  the  Great 
Spirit's  heart  was  warm  towards  them.  He  loved 
them  more  than  he  even  loved  the  brave  and  war- 
like Pottawatamies.  An  Ojibway  daughter  of  the 
Pottawattamies  betrayed  the  Otter.  The  tribe  suf- 
fered for  the  deed.  Pontiac  cursed  her.  She  cursed 
the  tribe.  No  more  are  they  a  race  of  warriors. 
They  are  a  tribe  of  wanderers.  They  were  Pontiac's 
children  and  he  loved  them.  Two  Miama  Ghosts 
are  more  powerful  than  many  Pottawattamies.  But 
the  spirit  of  the  greatest  of  the  Ottawas  is  power- 
ful even  unto  the  Manitou.  Why  does  the  Son 
of  my  Brother  ask?" 

"Because  there  is  not  and  never  has  been  any- 
thing such  as  a  Miama  Ghost  in  the  Hollow.  The 
track  still  lies  in  the  forest,  but  no  Miama  is  it  who 
leaves  that  trail.  I  do  not  gainsay  but  that  another 
spirit  does  lurk  about,  for  I  have  seen  with  my  own 
eyes.  If  the  Otter  is  mighty  even  unto  the  Great 


298  ONAWAGO 

Manitou  himself,  then  your  medicines,  Moccasin,  are 
worth  just  so  much  dirt.  She  of  the  track,  com- 
mands him  in  life  as  she  will  in  death.  But  I  suspect 
that  before  long  he  shall  again  see — see  to  find  his 
way  unto  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds.  'The 
other  paleface,'  as  you  just  now  termed  him,  Moc- 
casin, has  no  medicine,  either  good  or  bad.  Last 
night  he  lost  to  Pontiac's  gain.  Yet  Pontiac  has  not 
yet  gained  all.  If  he  gains  again,  he  can  then  depart 
in  peace  to  the  great  hereafter  of  your  people  and 
rule  as  of  old  among  his  subjects.  Come,  do  you 
still  refuse  to  accompany  me?" 

"Son  of  my  Brother  speaks  with  the  wisdom  of  a 
sooth-sayer.  How  does  he  know  so  much?" 

"Believe  me  or  not,  as  you  will.  I've  stated  cold 
facts.  If  you're  going  with  me,  then  come— but  no 
— stay  here.  Martha  must  not  be  left  here.  Luxor 
will  follow  me.  'Lux,'  come.  Good-bye  Martha, 
girl!  I'll  be  back  soon." 

"Don't  risk  it,  Dave;  please!  Yet— yet  Bruce 
must  be  found.  Let  me  go  with  you.  Let  Moc- 
casin guard  here  alone.  With  Luxor  along,  no 
harm  can  befall  us.  Moccasin,  will  you  stay?" 

"My  daughter  is  stout  of  heart.  She  fears  noth- 
ing, even  by  night.  She  may  go  for  no  harm 


ONAWAGO  299 

shall  overtake  her.  She  is  safe  for  she  is  brave. 
The  Otter  loved  stout  hearts.  Go,  Nin-don-son, 
for  your  heart  is  stout." 

In  the  cold  gray  of  dawn  we  watched  Moccasin 
quietly  seat  himself  upon  the  sand  beside  the  corpse 
and  drooping  his  head  forward,  stare  fixedly  at  the 
pale-face  upturned  to  the  dim  light.  Then  silently 
we  turned  and  started  upon  our  uncertain  search. 

Back  into  the  soul-depressing  gloom  of  that 
loathe  some  gully  we  groped  our  way,  beating  with 
difficulty  our  passage  through  the  dense  coverts  that 
edged  the  swollen  creek.  I  held  in  mind,  as  best  I 
could,  the  location  of  yesterday's  uncanny  scenes.  I 
led,  Martha  silently  following,  one  hand  in  mine, 
and  I  believe  the  most  nerved  of  us  two.  Luxor 
stalked  nonchalantly  arear,  and  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  was  wholly  unarmed  and  on  precarious  quest, 
until,  as  we  neared  our  wanted  destination,  sudden- 
ly knowledge  of  my  helplessness  laid  possession  of 
me.  It  required  every  iota  of  my  will  power  to 
muster  courage  to  proceed  and  voice  no  such  alarm 
to  Martha. 

We  had  covered  some  goodly  distance  by  now 
and  I  knew  we  were  close  unto  our  wanted  destin- 
ation— when  commingling  with  the  dull  sighing  of 


300  ONAWAGO 

the  wind  and  the  rustling  of  the  foliage,  a  low  groan- 
ing drifted  to  our  ears.  We  both  started  with  one 
accord,  and  stopping  short,  turned  to  one  another. 
Even  Luxor  shifted  his  stub  ears  and  drew  himself 
into  harkening  posture.  That  the  groaning  came 
from  not  far  away  was  self  evident  and  though  the 
thing  sent  a  chill  over  us,  'twas  but  for  a  moment, 
till,  guided  by  it,  we  bore  in  its  direction.  Twas 
but  a  few  steps— a  few  steps  of  cautiously  slinking 
forward  without  creating  the  slightest  disturbance 
amidst  that  darksome  underbrush — that  as  we  crept 
stealthily  to  wards  the  groaning — groaning  which  came 
incessantly  and  without  variation  of  accent  from  out 
the  darkness  underneath  the  heavy  shrubbery — that 
unexpectantly  a  voice  spoke  from  the  gloom. 

"Lux,  good  old  dog!  My  God,  I  knew 
you'd  find  me!" 

For  past  us  Luxor  had  slipped,  unbeknown  to 
us,  and  with  a  thankful  heart  I  recognized  the  voice 
of  the  sufferer. 

"Bruce,"  I  spoke,  "we're  here.  What  ails  you, 
man — are  you  suffering?" 

"Bundy,"  he  answered,  "you've  saved  me  again. 
Great  God,  how  I've  prayed  you'd  come!  They 
all  but  put  the  finish  to  my  tether  this  time  sure. 


ONAWAGO  301 

Here,   I  need  your  help  a  bit.     God,  my  neck's 
broken!" 

I  stumbled  forward  in  the  darkness,  and  groped 
about  blindly  with  my  hands  as  he  directed  me.  I 
strained  and  twisted  at  those  hateful  thongs,  yet  even 
with  Martha's  assistance,  we  wrenched  not  one  from 
its  firm  anchoring. 

"Who  is  this  with  you,  Dave?  Is  it  Dominique?" 
"It's  I,  Bruce,  your  sister.  Oh,  you  poor  boy!" 
She  ceased  endeavoring  to  release  him  and  in- 
stead slipped  around  to  his  head  and  held  it  in  her 
lap  to  ease  the  torture  of  his  neck.  For  suspended 
by  all  fours — suspended  by  bonds  wrapped  about 
both  wrists  and  ankles — Bruce  hung  suspended  above 
the  ground  between  four  straining  saplings,  his  head 
hanging  from  his  shoulders  in  distressing  attitude, 
the  strength  of  his  neck  having  long  since  given  way. 
But  without  a  sharp  instrument  with  which  to  free 
him,  I  wrestled  in  vain  with  his  fetters. 

"How  far  are  we  from  where  we  were  last  to- 
gether, Bruce?"  I  asked.    "How  far  from  this  spot?" 
"Through  the  lace- work  of  those  leaves  I  can  see 
it's  growing  light.     If  you'll  go  where  my  left  arm  is 
pointing,  Dave,  you'll  find  we  are  on  the  edge  of  our 


302  ONAWAGO 

last  night's  bivouac.  Just  step  outside  this  brush  and 
you're  there.  'But  why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because  your  pen-knife  is  buried  there  and  we 
need  it.  I'm  going,  but  I'll  be  back  at  once." 

And  I  left  them  together,  Martha  and  Bruce, 
Luxor  with  them;  alone  I  broke  through  the 
encircling  brush  into  the  open  of  our  late  biv- 
ouac. I  stood  for  a  moment  and  gazed  about  the 
place,  gazed  down  the  Hollow  to  where,  glimpsed 
through  the  gap,  the  white-frothed  waters  of  the  lake 
lay  like  a  snow  clad  prairie  in  the  distance;  gazed 
above  into  the  cloud-darkened  heavens  that  brooded 
low  above  the  snow-drifted  hills;  gazed  up  the  steep 
slide  of  the  mountain  as  it  towered  white  and  cold 
above  me,— a  bulk,  heartless  and  austere.  A  cold 
qualm  settled  at  my  heart  and  I  turned  from  this 
view  of  a  desolate  world  and  started  in  search  for 
that  small  pearl  prize,  hidden  somewhere,  I  knew, 
hereabout  in  the  sand.  I  conjured  my  brain  to  re- 
member the  exact  spot  in  which  we  had  knelt  when 
surreptitiously  I  had  eased  it  from  his  grasp  and 
thrust  it  beneath  the  then  dry  and  loose  sand,  which 
now  was  dampened  with  the  snow  and  well  nigh 
compact.  I  dug  about  for  some  time  before  finally 
it  came  into  the  feel  of  my  fingers.  Then  straight- 


ONAWAGO  303 

way  back  into  the  brush  I  turned  once  more  to  them, 
but  before  I  had  slashed  in  twain  the  cords,  Bruce 
addressed  me,  and  there  was  fear  and  awe 
couched  in  his  tone,  lest  other  ears  than  wanted  ones 
should  hear. 

"Dave,  my  gun  you'll  find  if  you  but  search  thor- 
oughly where  I  stood  before  felled.  I  doubt  if  they 
carried  it  off.  She  allows  no  handling  or  carrying  of 
weapons  other  than  knives.  Hunt  it,  boy!  We  may 
need  it  yet.  Let  Martha  cut  these  ribbons.  Don't 
spare  the  time  yourself." 

Slipping  the  knife  into  Martha's  hand  as  she  still 
held  Bruce's  head  in  his  agony,  leaving  her  to  de- 
liver him  from  his  awful  captivity,  I  found  my  way 
back  to  the  cleared  space  and  commenced  my  futile 
search  for  Bruce's  revolver.  I  sought  it  in  the  deceit- 
ful light  of  that  slow-growing  dawn,  down  upon  both 
hands  and  knees,  straining  my  eyesight  into  pierc- 
ing, the  confusing  gloom,  until  suddenly  a  strange, 
indescribable  sensation  held  possession  of  me,  pin- 
ioning me  powerless  as  I  knelt.  My  senses  whirled 
away  as  with  a  draft  of  air.  A  disquieting  sense  as  of 
peculiar  emptiness  crept  over  me,  a  careless  realiza- 
tion of  the  incompleteness  of  things,  a  sense  as 
though  the  earth  had  been  snatched  from  beneath 


304  ONAWAGO 

me  and  that  I  drifted  aimlessly  through  space  and 
interminable  oblivion,  while,  at  the  same  time,  I 
seemed  clasped  within  some  ponderous  pressure  and 
slowly  being  pressed  to  nothingness.  I  could  not 
command  myself  in  the  least — I  could  not  even  so 
much  as  lift  my  head  to  look  about  me.  Yet  during 
it  all,  I  knew  well  that  I  knelt — that  I  was  kneeling 
there  in  that  haunted  spot  of  my  recent  occupancy, 
and  that  this  unaccountable  inebriation  possessed 
me.  A  distorted  vision  was  whirling  before  my 
eyes — a  vision  of  home. 

Flashes  from  our  old  fire-place  were  playing 
upon  the  somber  dusk  of  our  home  living  room. 
Kneeling  in  devoted  service,  I  saw  my  mother  in 
the  center  of  the  floor,  little  Mary  clasped  endear- 
ingly to  her  bosom,  and  I  could  trace  the  words, 
every  one,  as  they  flowed  from  her  lips  in  a  travail 
of  despair.  I  recognized  that  beautiful  and  beloved 
of  all  utterances,  the  Lord's  Prayer — though  scarce 
had  I  recognized  its  divine  solace  when  abruptly  my 
vision  changed.  I  saw  before  me  a  creature,  ter- 
rible beyond  all  power  of  words.  Hunched  to  a 
sinister  posture,  it  clutched  in  its  bony  fingers  the 
beautiful  head  of  a  young  woman  upon  whose  breast 
slept  peacefully  a  fair  infant.  The  cruel  eyes  of  the 


ONAWAGO  305 

creature  gloated  with  savage  exultation  into  the 
shrinking  ones  of  the  mother,  while  with  a  pointed 
instrument,  it  pricked  and  worked  at  the  ashy  white 
forehead  of  the  victim.  Then  the  child  and  creature 
vanished,  and  the  woman  alone  was  aught  that  re- 
mained of  my  vision,  and  she  lay  dead  upon  the 
beach.  My  vision  vanished.  My  hypnotic  spell 
dispersed.  I  heard  a  loud,  masculine  voice  thunder- 
ing about  me;  I  heard  a  wild  cackle  flout  his  words; 
I  heard  a  low  growl  which  I  recognized.  I  lifted  up 
my  eyes  and  looked.  And  as  I  looked,  a  shiver  of 
horror  and  fear  shook  me  through  like  an  ague.  I 
remained  powerless  to  regain  my  feet,  and  all  I 
could  do  was  to  kneel,  look  and  listen.  For  close 
upon  me,  close  above  me,  almost  within  touch  of 
me,  stood  Onawago.  Clad  in  all  the  barbarity  of 
her  medicine  dress,  a  mere  ghost  of  her  former  self 
she  seemed,  so  withered,  shrunken  and  ill-propor- 
tioned was  she,  with  her  naked  body  abhorrent  with 
skin-wrapped  bones  and  cadaverous  beneath  the 
wierd  half  light  of  dawn.  About  her  loins  wrapped 
a  cloth  of  crimson  feathers,  while  rope  after  rope  of 
strung  teeth  draped  her  detestable  figure.  Her  long 
gray  hair  fluttered  in  the  wind  and  coiled  and  twisted 
its  oily  strands  about  her  ghastly  visage.  Her  un- 


306  ONAWAGO 

couth  jaws  were  writhed  in  a  leering  grin  and  the 
snag  of  one  yellow  tooth  lay  bared  to  view  by  the 
parted  lips.  Her  eyes  were  glowering  wickedly 
from  within  their  sunken  sockets,  while  standing  out 
villainously  from  between  her  withered  breasts,  the 
totem-eye  glared  steadfastly  forward,  a-twinkle  as 
with  fiendish  delight,  black,  glittering,  and  feverishly 
blood-shot,  while  swinging  loosely  above  the  viru- 
lent totem-eye,  suspended  by  a  string  of  iridescent 
shells,  dangled  an  odd,  acorn-shaped  thing;  I  shud- 
dered at  the  knowledge  of  its  identity. 

"Back,  you  fiend!  You  devil!  Back,  I  say! 
Touch  him  and  I'll  snap  your  vile  head  off  your 
shoulders.  Think  not  that  you  longer  have  suprem- 
acy over  him,  witch  that  you  are!  Helpless  now  are 
you  even  as  that  thing  you  wear!  A  fig  for  your  in- 
cantation of  that  night!  The  ears  I  burned;  but,  one 
life  of  them  remained,  and  yet  remains.  Just  so 
long  as  that  dog  may  breathe,  thou  art  checked. 
Hear  me?  I  again  say  it,— thou  art  checked!  Under- 
stand? You're  powerless,  I  say,  powerless— power- 
less till  this  dog  shall  die.  Mighty,  Marvelous, 
Mystic,  Magic,  Bloody,  Wierd,  Peculiar — but  hag, 
there  is  no  'tragic' — till  this  dog  shall  die.  Now 


ONAWAGO  307 

hag,  witch,  Indian  thief,  even  unto  me,  what  think 
you  now!" 

I  huddled  spellbound,  though  I  forgot  for  the 
nonce  my  erstwhile  fear,  for  now  I,  knew,  at  last, 
the  relation  of  Luxor's  life  to  my  own. 

I  recall  the  shriek  arising  from  far  away  among 
the  hills,  then  slowly  growing  as  with  the  coming  of 
the  winds  until  from  out  the  air  above  us,  the  cry 
broke  piercing  upon  the  protracted  silence  which 
had  fallen  upon  us.  Onawago  had  thrown  herself 
in  agonized  attitude,  one  hand  over  her  eyes,  the 
other  fighting,  I  say,  aye,  for  unless  I  were  deceived 
by  that  which  mine  eyes  beheld,  other  hands  than 
her  own  were  striving  for  possession  of  the  acorn 
trinket.  I  saw  two  wraith-like  hands  and  the  tall 
wraith-like  figure  of  a  magnificent  warror  evolve 
almost  immediately.  When  I  looked  once  more, 
no  acorn-like  trinket  dangled  between  her  withered 
breasts.  Pontiac  had  taken  departure  to  the  great 
hereafter,  to  the  blessed  realms  of  his  people.  I 
was  cowed,  awed,  at  witnessing  the  transpiration  of 
it  all. 

'Twas  now  that  I  noticed  a  dark  form  slinking 
forward,  crouched  low  to  earth  and  flat  upon  its 
belly;  watched  it  worm  itself  cautiously  toward  On- 


308  ONAWAGO 

awago  and  slinking  yet  closer  to  earth,  gather  him- 
self in  preparation  for  a  spring.  Simultaneously  and 
with  an  obvious  effort  she  collected  herself ,  and,  for  a 
moment,  fixed  her  keen  eyes  with  a  maddened  fas- 
cination down  upon  the  crouching  Luxor  at  her 
feet.  While  through  the  morning  air  rang  her 
taunting  laugh,  wavering  in  undulating  cadences 
down  the  sullen  Hollow. 

Shrinking,  as  from  a  blow  and  recoiling  involun- 
tarily before  her,  I  slunk  backwards  into  the  brush- 
edge  as  I  saw  her — saw  her  with  fawn-like  agility, 
leap  suddenly  backward  and  dropping  upon  all 
fours,  face  Luxor  with  a  snarl  of  rage  guttering  in 
her  throat.  More  the  wolf  than  the  human  incar- 
nate she  seemed;  and  I  noted  with  a  fleeting  observ- 
ance, that  her  knees  as  well  as  her  hands  and  feet 
trod  upon  the  earth,  constituting  six  in  all. 

That  which  followed,  in  my  memory,  is  wrapped 
in  dull  blur.  I  caught  but  little  of  the  detail  of  the 
thing,  so  rapid  and  changeable  did  it  take  place.  I 
looked  upon  that  scene  enacted  there  before  me 
with  a  sickening  clutch  upon  my  heart  and  a  sicken- 
ing, surging  pulsing  throughout  me.  I  heard  a  low, 
ominous  growl  vented  by  them  with  one  accord, 
and  I  saw  them  spring  and  rush  upon  each  other 


ONAWAGO  309 

like  veritable  beasts  which  they  were.  I  heard  Lux- 
or's fangs  clash  incisively  and  I  could  see  him  tear- 
ing furiously  at  her  unprotected  throat  as  he  bore 
down  and  I  heard  the  snarl  in  his  throat  slowly  die 
away;  while  bursting  from  her  lips  in  loud  crescen- 
do, the  terrific  squall  of  the  panther  slowly  throbbed 
away  in  the  distance.  Then  all  was  still.  Two  life- 
less bodies  were  what  we  found  them,  fast  grappled 
in  death. 

A  faintness  overswept  me  and  I  sank  prone  upon 
the  sand,  though  retaining,  to  an  extent,  my  con- 
sciousness. I  heard  Bruce  go  to  them,  and  at  the 
same  time,  I  felt  two  dear  arms  clasp  me  close  and 
tenderly,  and,  as  I  lifted  my  eyes  to  hers,  the  light 
of  the  dawn  was  stronger  in  the  east,  rendering 
everything  about  us  more  distinct  in  detail;  and, 
with  the  knowledge  of  the  light,  the  memory  of  the 
locket  flashed  into  my  mind. 

"Martha,"  I  bade  her,  "give  it  to  him.  God 
grant  he  learns  what  he  yearns  to  know!" 

As  she  slipped  quietly  forward  and  across  to 
Bruce,  and  as  she  handed  it  to  him,  I  saw  him  start, 
and,  half  rising  from  his  stooping  posture,  stare  hard 
and  long  at  the  thing,  holding  it  close  before  him  in 
the  dim  light.  Oft  and  again  his  lips  moved,  at- 


310  ONAWAGO 

tempting  speech,  but  his  voice  forsook  him,  until, 
drawing  up  with  a  gallant  command  over  himself 
and  standing  fully  erect,  he  read  with  wild  abstraction 
for  a  moment,  then  clasped  the  locket  affectionately 
to  his  breast.  But  by  now  Martha  was  returned  to 
me,  and  together  we  crouched  and  watched  him  as 
he  read  and  realized.  Then  at  length  he  spoke 
aloud: 

"Where— where  did  this  come  from?  Speak, 
fools!  Can't  you  see  I'm  dying  to  learn?  Where — 
when — who — "  . 

"By  the  storm,  Bruce,"  Martha  answered.  "Wo- 
man cast  up  fry  the  waves.  Moccasin  guards  her 
even  now.  You'll  find  them  at  the  mouth  of  the 
creek.  Go — but  first  read  it  to  us." 

His  voice  bore  dry  and  husky  in  dull  monotone, 
as  slowly  he  read,  and  its  every  word  burned  itself 
indelibly  into  my  memory. 

"I,  Ruth  Long,  am  bent  upon  strange  quest. 
This,  should  aught  mishap  me,  doth  bear  me  wit- 
ness. Dating  from  the  siege  of  Detroit,  at  which  the 
founder  of  our  family  was  a  subordinate  officer  of 
the  garrison,  dating  from  then,  a  malicious  fate  hath 
decreed  that  the  first-born  of  our  family  shall  either 
die  or  mysteriously  disappear.  My  eldest  offspring, 


ONAWAGO  311 

a  man-child,  did  this  latter,  October  seventh,  eigh- 
teen thirty-eight.  One  clue  alone  I  have,  and  I  am 
now  bent  upon  my  strange  quest.  May  God  aid  me 
to  find  my  child,  Bruce  Long." 

Without  a  word,  we  watched  him  raise  his  head 
in  triumph,  raise  his  eyes  to  the  heavens  above,  and, 
lifting  his  arms  on  high,  cry  in  a  piercing  voice: 
"God  be  praised!"  Then  suddenly  he  turned  and 
tore  his  way  into  the  brush,  bound  lakeward  and  to 
the  mouth  of  the  creek,  while  slowly  we  arose  and 
together  began  our  painful  trudge  up  the  long,  grad- 
ual acclivity  of  the  great  sand  mountain,  on  our 
homeward  way.  And  naught  but  once  did  either  of 
us  speak. 

"Dave,"  she  said,  "I'll  never  leave  the  woods 
now— nor  you." 


THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 

SwAGO;  OR,  THE  BETRAYER  OF  PONTIAC  BEN 


30112025324713 


